


Alaska

by SheilaPaulson



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheilaPaulson/pseuds/SheilaPaulson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after the final episode, Blair has a chance to research another Sentinel--in Alaska</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alaska

Jim was in the bathroom reluctantly popping one of his pain pills when the phone rang, so he had to leave it to Blair to answer. Not a good idea. Since the press conference, there had been a few crank calls, some of them twitting Jim about being a Sentinel in a mocking way, others badmouthing Blair for the whole "fraud" thing. Jim had been trying to take all the calls because Blair didn't need that. He had enough screwed up in his life without that, and most of it wasn't his fault.  
They'd been over that already, too many times, and most of it was resolved; at least Jim hoped it was. He knew he didn't want Blair to take another crank phone call, though, so he pumped up his hearing, ready to come to the rescue if need be. The medication muted his senses a little, but not enough that he couldn't hear the entire conversation.  
"Professor Stoddard!" Blair's voice was taut, wary. The last thing he would want would be to hear condemnation from his former mentor. Stoddard hadn't been around for a while. He'd gone off on that expedition that Blair had chosen not to take part in after the trip to Peru to rescue Simon and his son. He'd been back for a few months a year ago, and then taken off somewhere else. Jim couldn't remember where. He hadn't asked Blair to go with him on that one, or maybe Blair had told him up front that he wouldn't go and just didn't mention it to Jim. Wherever he'd gone, he must be still there or off to a new site because Blair said hastily, "How is Denali?" Alaska, evidently. The question was a stall. Jim knew every tactic Blair used for misdirection. He focused his hearing to pick up Stoddard's voice.  
"Never mind that now. Are you all right?"  
"Me? Oh yeah, I'm good." Was he? There was a quiet, level tone to his voice, no spark, no energy. That was so not Blair.  
"How's Jim?"  
"He got shot in the leg. He's limping around but he'll be okay." He sounded so wary, a man waiting for the axe to fall.  
"Good, good. Listen, Blair, I've known for a long time that the Sentinel thing was true. No, don't deny it," he said when Blair gasped his name. "I don't expect you to confirm it, either. There's no need. It doesn't matter. You did the right thing to retrieve the mess. I'm sure you know a number of things you could have done differently--all of us have twenty/twenty hindsight. Never mind that now. What you did took all the courage I've always known you possessed."  
Blair's voice was soft, shaky. "Thank you, Professor Stoddard. Having you believe in me--" He cut that out. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm a fraud."  
"No, you're a man who claimed to be a fraud, and that's not the same thing at all. Blair, you're just the man I need. You know I'm up here just outside Denali National Park. I've been working in a small settlement, mostly Aleut, but not all. Some Caucasian, some other tribes; a few Tlingit, for instance. Mostly native population, though. We've had some problems with somebody smuggling alcohol in--against the law. But one of the locals took matters in his own hands, and solved that problem. Turns out, he solves a lot of things himself. A big fellow, everybody looks up to him, named David Meganack. He's a Sentinel."  
"He's what?" Blair's voice rang with excitement. "Oh, man, are you sure? That is so great. Really? What senses have you observed?"  
Jim stiffened, the untouched pill in his hand. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard that much undiluted eagerness in Blair's voice, and the fact that he couldn't was like a kick in the ass. This whole diss thing had cast such a pall over their friendship. They were coming out of it, working it out. He'd believed they were working it out. But Blair's eager joy at the thought of another proof of his life's work made Jim realize just how much he'd given up to protect his friend. He hadn't regretted it. He'd insisted he hadn't regretted it. But Jim had seen his face when he'd trailed home after cleaning out his office at Rainier and knew that if Blair didn't regret protecting Jim, a part of him was mourning the loss of a dream. He hadn't let Jim help him close down the office, either, but had insisted he had to do it on his own.  
"Frankly, son, he came to me. We saw you on TV up here. There's a set in the local community center, and somebody saw your press conference. They dragged David in to see it when it was rerun later that night. He came to me the next day. He knows I'm affiliated with Rainier."  
"He admits it?" Blair's voice rang with eagerness. "He can control it? Does he have a guide?"  
"Yes, he does, his brother, Peter. I've watched them work together. It's amazing. I think you need to come up here and meet with them. Train them. Help them out. I...." He hesitated. "I understand the university, in its typical shortsighted, idiotic, and self-serving manner, has terminated you. Fools. You do have grounds for a major lawsuit, you know."  
"I do know. Several people have told me. I'm...thinking about it."  
"Think hard. A cash settlement isn't the same as vindication, but I understand why you don't want to go that route. Events may vindicate you, and it's possible that there are less self-serving schools that would allow you to complete your doctorate with them. I'll help you all I can in that."  
Jim heard Blair swallow hard. "Uh, thanks, Professor. I--"  
"Any time, my boy. I value loyalty. You possess it--in spades. I hope your friend Jim realizes what a good friend he has in you."  
"Yeah," Jim muttered to his face in the mirror. "You could say that, Stoddard."  
"I should never have gotten him into that mess," Blair said wearily.  
"No, but you didn't intend to. Let's set that aside for the moment. Blair, I need you here. This is ideal for you. David is eager to meet you and work with you. Could you fly up here? My grant will cover your plane ticket, and of course you'll have a salary."  
Jim stood frozen. He could practically feel Blair's temptation. Blair had proclaimed himself delighted over the badge, a chance to work as Jim's official partner. But Sentinels had been his dream for many more years than he'd known Jim. Blair had once claimed he could never return to a life of nothing but academia after working with Jim, but that was before he'd been forced to give it up. What would he say? What could Jim say to keep him here? Did he even have the right to ask?  
And worse, would Blair take the chance offered by Stoddard, cut and run, desert Jim? Another Sentinel, one that might presumably allow his name to be used in the dissertation. How could Blair refuse that possibility? He could be Doctor Sandburg after all. And how much safer would it be for this David character, who didn't live in a major city but in a remote village where reporters couldn't dog his every step? Even if people wanted to track him down, it might not be that easy to get there. Maybe a National Geographic special and a few reports on Nova, and the public, fickle as usual, would forget. Just what Sandburg needed, a safe Sentinel to exploit.  
Exploit?  
Whoa, where the hell had that come from?  
"Well, um, Professor, I don't think I can." Was that regret in Blair's voice? Disappointment? "I start at the Police Academy in three weeks when the summer session begins. I'm going to become a cop, work with Jim."  
"What nonsense is this? You, a police officer? You're a scientist. I can't imagine you, er, gunning down a perp. You're a man of peace. Oh, I don't doubt you could handle it--I've never seen you back down from anything since I've known you, no matter the challenge. You have that spark that would probably make you good at it, that urge to run toward danger instead of away from it. But that is what makes you a superb anthropologist. There are many cops, Blair. But there is only one Blair Sandburg, and he belongs to anthropology."  
"Not any more," Blair said. Tiredly? Bitterly? "I can't go back. The academic community considers me a fraud. You know that."  
"Not all the academic community. Anyone who really knows you has to know better."  
"Chancellor Edwards--"  
"Hah! A politician. An opportunist. You're her scapegoat, son, because she doesn't want anyone to realize how utterly unethical and unscrupulous she was over this whole mess. I've written to the trustees to point that out and register my complaint against her. I don't guarantee it will make Rainier take you back, but I do guarantee that with my complaint and the complaints of other serious, respected faculty members, there will be an investigation. You didn't submit the dissertation. You didn't authorize it to be released to that publisher. Your rights were violated all down the line. Come up to Alaska. Give me some time, do some research on David. He'll allow it. Use him in your dissertation. He's willing. Put aside this idea of becoming a police officer."  
"But I'm Jim's g--" Blair chopped that off. "Jim's friend." The word sounded lame. Jim felt his stomach knot up.  
"Blair, listen to me. You gave up your career, your life's work, for Jim Ellison. If he doesn't appreciate that, he should. Don't you think he'd be willing to spare you for a few months, to allow you to get your life back together? With my help and those of the vast majority of the anthro department, we'll see that you are reinstated, that you can submit your reworked dissertation. You'll be Doctor Sandburg before you know it." He gave a hearty laugh. "And then, if you still want to go to the Police Academy, it will be your own choice, and not because they're offering you a hand-out, not because it's the only option available to you."  
"I don't know...." Damn it, he sounded tempted. "I could probably come up there for a few weeks," he offered. "Until the academy session starts."  
"Do you think you could possibly get enough information in a few weeks to replace the documentation you have on Ellison? No, don't answer that. I know you won't give him away, even now, when I already know. No, son, I know you never said a word to me. You never gave your friend away. That's how I know leaking your dissertation was not deliberate, that you had nothing to do with it. You don't have it in you to betray a friend."  
Just to run out on me. Jim pushed away the unworthy thought. What kind of selfish bastard would he be if he stood in the way of Blair's last chance to complete his doctorate program, to validate his Sentinel research?  
If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was.  
But what would I do without him?  
The same thing you were going to do when you told Simon you didn't want a partner any longer. God, Ellison, you are one selfish bastard. This is the answer for Sandburg, a chance to redeem himself, to make his life's work count for something, to make his name become something more than a joke. How can the Police Academy ever hope to compensate for everything he lost?  
And how can I let Stoddard do more for him than I was willing to do?  
I'll have to let him go.  
"Well, I'll talk to Jim, see if it's okay to come up for a few weeks," Blair said. "Maybe I can help this David. Wow, just imagine what he might be able to do. All that solitude? He's helping his tribe, out there, just like Sentinels were meant to do. I've got to talk to him. But I can't stay. I've got obligations here."  
"Don't decide now, Blair. Just come. When you've met David and Peter, you can see what your choices are."  
Go for it, Sandburg, Jim thought, even though the urge hurt. He didn't want Blair to go. But this was the best possible time. Until the doctor released him, he was on desk duty anyway. He wouldn't be out there in the line of fire relying on his guide to back him. Connor knew the truth. She could watch him for a few weeks. Hell, everybody in Major Crimes knew the truth, even though they had to pretend they didn't. Joel had come to him after all the shouting died.  
"Don't worry, Jim, I don't expect you to confirm it. But it explains a lot of things. I believe the whole thing, and it's just like Blair to take the rap to protect you."  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jim had said stiffly.  
"No, I know. But here's the bottom line. We're all here to back you. When Sandburg's away at the academy, you'll probably be partnered with me or Connor. We'll watch your back, keep an eye out for this zone-out thing."  
"Doesn't have anything to do with me," Jim said, but they both knew it was what he had to say. He took a deep breath. "I'll tell Sandburg he can talk to you," he said, and that was as close to an official admission as he could make.  
Rafe and Brown knew, too, but they also knew better than to mention it. He caught a few curious glances at the slightest hint of a sense thing, but he'd have to learn to live with that. Maybe there was a way to make this work. Maybe the other detectives would come to take it all for granted and forget about it. He hoped so. Department Freak was not a position he had ever sought.  
Blair wound down the conversation. He just had to make one phone call to get the plane ticket, but he wouldn't commit to it. Instead he hung up and called, "Jim?"  
The pain shot a new spike through Jim's leg, up his thigh, down past his knee. The doc said that was natural and a part of the healing process, that there wouldn't be any permanent problems, that he could go back to work as long as he parked at a desk. They'd re-evaluate in a few weeks, and he'd already started therapy. But the pain pills were actually muscle relaxers. Blair had met with the doctor, armed with a list of medications that had caused problems with Jim's senses. His medical records already had most of them listed, but Jim's old doctor had retired a couple of months ago, and the new man wasn't quite as used to him. If Doctor Harlan had made the connection between the drug sensitivities and the Sentinel news all over the media, he had never once said so. He'd arranged for the first dosage to be made in the office, where he could monitor Jim's reactions.  
The drug didn't set off any weird reactions. It simply caused a slight muting of all his senses. That was natural, Blair said. Anyone with a heightened sense of touch was sure to feel pain more strongly than your average man. Jim had learned to turn down the pain dial when he needed to, but bullet wounds required special attention. Blair had fussed over him the first few times he had to take one of the pills, but so far there had been no problems.  
Jim popped the pill, washed it down with a glass of water, and emerged from the bathroom. "Sandburg?"  
Blair took one look at his face. "You heard all that," he said, and Jim couldn't tell if he resented Jim's eavesdropping or not. He thought he would have known, once. The dissertation still hung between them.  
"I heard you say his name," Jim admitted. "Sorry. I was afraid he might...."  
"Come down on me?" Blair finished. "He didn't."  
"He's offering you a great chance, Sandburg. If you want to go for it, we can wait on the Academy. Go to the fall session instead." He hoped Blair wouldn't be able to tell how hard he had to work to sound so positive, what he'd gone through to reach that point.  
Blair's eyes widened. "Really?" He couldn't have sounded more delighted if Jim had given him a fortune. Well, maybe what Jim had said was worth a fortune. It was his chance to offer Blair back what Blair had given up for him without hesitation, his academic reputation.  
"I'd have to be a jerk to stand between you and a chance like this," Jim said. His lips felt numb. He was sure if Sandburg went that he wouldn't come back.  
"I can go for a few weeks, Jim. You're on desk duty anyway. You wouldn't be at risk, or--Jim! You're only working because you insisted on it. They'd give you sick leave if you asked for it. Come with me. There'd be some great fishing. You'd be away from all this." He waved his hand in a wide arc to suggest the notoriety he'd achieved in Cascade. "It would be so great, man. We could--" He chopped it off abruptly and his face fell. "I forgot."  
"The other Sentinel," Jim realized. The last thing they needed was another crisis like the Alex Barnes debacle.  
Blair's shoulders slumped. "It would have been so cool, Jim. Alaska. Incredible country. And it would have been great to get away. You need a break. That's my fault, and I would have asked Doctor Stoddard to spring for your plane fare. I'm sure he would have. But we can't risk you and this David coming face to face--on his territory, too."  
"That's okay, Sandburg. Simon's not officially back yet, and Connor's only part time until next week, and then she's on desk duty, too. I shouldn't take any time off, even though they'd let me. I can't go out and work cases, but I can help out. I need to be there."  
"I could write this off and come in. I know I'm not officially anything right now, that I really shouldn't be there, but I can help."  
"No, Sandburg. This was meant to happen. I know I'd feel a hell of a lot better about it if you could get your doctorate, could prove in the eyes of the world that you're no fraud. Anybody who knows you knows that already, but this way vindicates you. You need to go. I'll talk to Simon, see if we can set you up for the autumn session at the Academy instead. What do you say?"  
"But, Jim, I'd be away all summer. Your senses--"  
"I won't lie and say I won't miss you, and not just because of the senses. But Connor knows, and so does Joel. I told him he could ask you about it. If you brief them both before you go, I can hold out for a few months." He gritted his teeth. "Hell, Sandburg, the way I've treated you, I wouldn't blame you if you ran and kept on running."  
Blair's eyes widened, then he shook his head so fiercely his hair flopped about. He'd put off the dreaded haircut, and Jim had the sudden realization he'd miss the long hair that had so often irritated him if Sandburg bowed to convention and cut it for the Academy. If he went off for the summer to work with another Sentinel--Jim stomped down the hot, irrational flash of jealousy that shot through him at the thought of that--he wouldn't need to have his locks shorn quite yet.  
"I'm not running, Jim. This isn't about running. Just like it was never about my dissertation, not really. It's about friendship."  
Jim reached out and rumpled the long hair. "And this summer is about self-respect," he said. "My own as well as yours. You made a sacrifice for me last week, Darwin. You gave up your entire life for me. You think I can't give up a few months for you?"  
Blair gazed at him with wide, starry eyes. "God, Jim, that was what I do. This--" and he gestured around the loft-- "is my life."  
Jim swallowed hard to remove the gigantic lump in his throat. He was a damned idiot to ever think that Blair would go for the brass ring, not when he'd given up everything for Jim. He reached out and grabbed Blair by the shoulders, then pulled him into a one-armed hug. "Sandburg, you get up there to Alaska and you redo your diss. You do the best job on it you possibly can, and if you come back before it's finished, I'm gonna tie you down and not just cut off this hair and make a Blairskin rug, I'm gonna shave your head."  
Blair wiggled as if he meant to eel out of the embrace, then he turned and hugged Jim hard. "Oh, man," he muttered, and Jim heard the emotion in his voice. "I can't believe this," he blurted out. "Jim, I give you my word, man. I'll be back. I swear it."  
"You better, or I'll come up there and hunt you down, even if it means taking on ten other Sentinels. You got that, Junior?"  
"I got it, Jim," Blair said, and he stood back, his face ablaze with happiness.

*****

Thunk. Jim Ellison came to a dead stop as he and Blair walked into the airport. That was weird. All at once, everything flattened out around him. The echo of background sound he kept tuned down to make walking down a street bearable had faded away as if it had never been there. He could hear Blair's eager chatter at his side, the squeaky wheels of that businessman's suitcase, the laughter of three little kids who hung all over a harried woman burdened with two flight bags, the general mutter of conversations around him. But it was as if he'd gone from stereo to mono, as if a switch had been flipped. What the hell?  
His leg throbbed dully. The pain pills worked there, too, but walking was still painful, not quite a week after the bullet had slammed into his leg. Somehow, that seemed less, too, as if his heightened awareness to pain had just dialed itself down to normal without so much as a prompt.  
He glanced around, saw a distant monitor that listed arrivals and departures. He tried to bring it into focus, but it wouldn't come. He couldn't sharpen his senses on it, couldn't control his heightened sight at all.  
God, it had all just stopped. All his senses had stopped. It was gone. Frantically, he tried to focus sight, hearing. The tartness of overdone aftershave from the guy who walked just in front of them had faded. He couldn't smell it at all now.  
What happened? It's gone.  
He glanced down at Sandburg. If he said one word, Sandburg wouldn't go. He'd write off his chance to complete his dissertation, his hope of regaining his academic reputation, in a heartbeat if he thought Jim needed him. And for what? Because of a glitch that might go away as quickly as it had hit--five minutes after the plane departed. It might even be an instinctive panic reaction: Sentinel about to be deprived of Guide. Don't tell him, Ellison. Let him think everything is fine. He wrote off his life's work for you. Don't deny him this chance to get it back. You'd be the most selfish asshole on the face of the Earth if you spoke up now.  
But maybe he's not supposed to go. Maybe this is a sign.  
He brushed away that selfish, traitorous thought. Sandburg wasn't running out on him. Jim had assured him, over and over, that it was all right for him to go. He couldn't deny Blair this chance, and Simon had agreed with him when he'd asked him about it yesterday afternoon, when Simon had come in to Major Crimes for a couple of hours.  
"Hell, Jim, it might be a good thing. Even if he comes back and goes to the Academy, as Doctor Sandburg he'll be vindicated in the public eye. You don't know how hard it was to get them to take him on at the Academy. They were scared to death of how it would look--CPD taking on a self-admitted fraud? Let him finish up his dissertation this summer, vindicate himself. That'll make everybody happy, from the Commissioner on down."  
When Jim had hesitated, Simon had gestured him into the chair and offered him a cup of hazelnut coffee. "Come on, Jim, you've gotta let the kid go. He deserves his chance. And he's been coaching Connor ever since Alex Barnes, in case he were sick or called away for something, or unable to help you out. She can watch your back while he's gone, and Taggart knows, even though he isn't admitting it. If you can't trust Joel to watch your back, then there's nobody in the world you can trust."  
"I know that, Simon. It's just--"  
"Yeah, I know. The kid has grown on me, too. You'll miss him. But it's still better for him to go. This way, he can make the choice. It won't be a consolation prize for him any longer. It'll put you on a better footing, and if he doesn't know it, you should."  
Jim took a deep breath. "I do know it, Simon. I thought of all that. If I don't go for this, I'm the most selfish bastard in the known universe. It's just--"  
"Just your life on the line here, Jim. I know. Hell, Sandburg called me last night. He said I had to make sure somebody watched out for you. Not that he doesn't know you can handle yourself just fine. You haven't had one of those weird zone-outs for a long time. I bet he'll call every night to make sure you're okay. Make his cell phone company happy." He smiled tiredly. "Take tomorrow morning, see him off. Connor will be here tomorrow. I want you to sit down with her in the afternoon and talk about this Sentinel thing. She's just been promoted to acting guide."  
Jim wasn't sure how reassuring that was, especially now that he seemed to be facing null senses. No, "normal" senses. He'd had his senses back off a time or two before, out of one traumatic incident or another, and he suspected this was no more than a simple panic reaction because his guide was going so far away.  
God, Jim, what are you, a baby who needs somebody to hold your hand?  
They neared the gate, and Blair stopped to look at Jim. He must have seen some sign of Jim's distress on his face because his eyes widened in alarm. "Jim? You okay?"  
"Yeah, I'm fine, Sandburg. Just a twinge in my leg." He held up a hand when Blair would have started fussing. "Come on, Chief, the doc said I'd have them for a while as the muscle heals. No biggie."  
"Oh, that's right, you eat raw steel for breakfast, too. Level with me, Jim. This isn't some macho posturing to make sure I get on the plane, is it?"  
Damn, Blair had him pegged. Jim grimaced. "No way. You were there when the doc said it. You took a bullet once yourself. I don't remember you trotting out dancing every night right afterward."  
Blair winced reminiscently. "I want your word that if it gets worse, you'll tell the doc about it." When Jim hesitated, he grabbed Jim's wrist. "Your word. Come on, Jim."  
"Or you won't get on the plane?" Never mind a part of Jim that he didn't like to acknowledge would have preferred that. He couldn't stand in Blair's way. He had to let him go, no matter what was going down with the senses. "Okay, yeah, you've got it. When I see the doc tomorrow afternoon, I'll tell him if anything doesn't feel right. He'll ask anyway. Simon won't let me skip an appointment, either. He'd drag me there by my ears if I stalled on it."  
"Good. Because I'll have my cell phone and I can use it to check up on you, Mister Super Cop." He flashed Jim an impudent grin, but it didn't entirely hide the worry in his eyes.  
The boarding call interrupted anything else Blair might have said and he glanced over at the passengers who bunched around the door with their tickets in hand. "Gotta go, Jim. God, I wish you could come up. You need a break, and I won't be here to watch your back."  
Don't give him one hint of the sense thing. Jim ruffled the long hair. "I was watching my own back when you were still wet behind the ears." He let his hand fall on Blair's shoulder. "Knock 'em dead up there, Sandburg."  
"You know it, Jim. See you in a few weeks."  
"Months," Jim corrected sternly. He turned Blair around and pointed him to the end of the line. "Go on, get outta Dodge."  
Blair settled his backpack on his back and whipped out his ticket. At the gate, he looked back, flashed a sassy smile at Jim, and turned to enter the plane.  
Now what do I do? Jim limped away fast without looking back. Inside him, the place where his heightened senses had been was hollow and empty.  
Are you sure you don't mean the place where Sandburg had been?  
He wondered if Blair would ever come back.

*****

When the Cessna dropped down out of the clouds following a flight that had woven its way between jagged peaks and freaked Blair out so much he hadn't been able to look out the window, he saw only trees and a narrow strip of runway that looked too small for anything bigger than a kite. The bush pilot, a cheery woman in her mid-forties with slate-grey hair, took a hand off the controls and waved. "Hovik."  
"I don't see the town," Blair yelled over the noise of the engine.  
"Oh, it's there. You'll see it in a minute." The plane banked, and Blair's stomach swooped up into his throat. "You hate flying, don't you?"  
"I don't mind planes. It's the crashing of planes I mind. Or falling out of planes."  
The woman beside him chuckled. "Don't worry. I do this all the time. You'll see."  
She was right. The touchdown was smooth and light, and they glided to a stop in front of a fire-engine-red jeep and a yellow school bus with huge tires. Two Aleut guys opened a door in the back of the school bus, then rushed over to unload supplies from the Cessna.  
Eli Stoddard jumped out of the jeep and beckoned to Blair, who grinned, waved, and lugged his duffle and backpack out of the plane.  
When they were situated in the jeep, his mentor didn't turn on the engine immediately. He just looked at Blair for a long moment. "It's been hard on you," he said.  
A part of Blair wanted to howl like a baby, but he couldn't let that part take over or he'd run back to the plane and go home. "It was all my fault," he said. "Damn it, Eli, I knew I couldn't use the diss. I've known it for a long time, but I wouldn't let myself acknowledge it. I wrote it all up. God, it was what I'd wanted for so many years. But--when it all blew up, I knew I'd been an idiot. It was Jim's life."  
"Your life, too, son."  
"I can function without the degree. Jim can't be a cop in a glare of publicity like that."  
Stoddard clapped Blair on the shoulder. "Publicity is one of the most transitory objects there is. The general public would have forgotten in a month, and you know it."  
"The crooks wouldn't," Blair said unanswerably. "They need to think it was a hoax. No matter what else I could've done, this is the only thing that would take them off Jim's back."  
Eli looked at him sadly. "I didn't think of that angle," he admitted. "You're a good man, Blair. I hope your Jim knows that."  
Blair shrugged awkwardly. "I never dreamed Mom would send the diss to a publisher. It wouldn't have occurred to me in a million years. She promised not to read it, and I believed her. God, if only I'd password-protected it. I had to be crazy."  
The hand on his shoulder tightened for a second before Stoddard let go. "It happened, and you fixed it. Now let your friends help you. They're working for you at the university, behind the scenes. Don't you see, if you produce a new dissertation with a 'genuine' Sentinel, you can always claim the other was wishful thinking, a novel, a practice run, whatever. Even in your press conference, you said the general Sentinel data was real. David will help you validate yourself. He wants to."  
The two guys finished stowing supplies in the school bus and climbed in. Stoddard waved at them. When the bus chugged away, belching clouds of smelly exhaust, the Cessna taxied to the end of the runway. Blair watched it speed back and take off.  
"What does he get out of it?" he asked.  
"He's not after the glory, if that's what you're thinking. Look at this place. Do you imagine reporters can come here in droves? Even if they do, there's only one little hotel. It has two rooms, and I've got one of them already. My kids bunk in an empty house and camp in the good weather. David's safe, son. But after he saw the press conference, he said to me, 'What if that was Peter?' You know, his guide. His brother. I think they both felt for you. They know what you and Jim go through." He held up his hands. "I'm not going to keep pretending I don't know about Ellison. I won't expect you to keep denying it either, or to say anything at all."  
Jim had given him permission--in writing, at his insistence--to discuss his abilities with the Aleut Sentinel and guide. Blair didn't see that as license to blab about Jim's senses to anyone else. "Okay," he said, and that was all.  
"Then let's go." He turned on the jeep. "David, Peter, and JoAnne are waiting to meet you."  
"JoAnne?"  
"Our local doctor, and David's wife." Stoddard put the car in gear, and Blair, who had ridden with him before in even rougher terrain, hastily fastened his seat belt. Eli Stoddard drove like a Dale Earnhardt wannabe.  
The town was half a mile away, around the corner of the nearest pine-encrusted hill. Probably the landing strip was the only place flat enough for a plane to come down in the mountainous, tree-encrusted landscape.  
When Eli barreled down Main Street and screeched to a halt before a two-storey frame building, Blair got his first good look at the place. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but most of the buildings were wood; some of them on short stilts. You could see the whole town in one glance. And everybody could see him. People stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at them. Blair hadn't felt quite so exposed since he'd stood before the press at Rainier and thrown his academic career away.  
Still, the "vast crowds" who stared at the bright red jeep consisted of about twenty people. If more than two hundred people lived here, he'd be surprised, although there were probably a lot more people in cabins out in the bush. This type of country called to the isolationists, the loners. It was probably prime breeding ground for Sentinels, if it came to that. Blair had a hazy and probably far-from-accurate picture of David Meganack stalking a seal with a spear, although that was silly. They were inland. Okay, maybe bear or elk. Or was he about a century behind the times? It was almost the end of the millennium. There were cars all over the place, and a kid wearing a Grateful Dead tee shirt came out of one of the houses with a boom-box perched on his shoulder. They had TV here. They knew what went on in the world. After all, they'd all seen him make a total idiot of himself at the press conference. Blubbering away on national television. International, for all he knew.  
Did the people here resent the team of anthropologists camped in their midst? Did they perform for their audience? Ignore them? Scorn them? This looked like the kind of locale where a newcomer would be an outsider for many years before he found his place in the community.  
"Hovik's a good place," Eli said. "Apart from the Hob cult, and even that's pretty harmless; just an odd aberration."  
Blair's ears perked up. "Hob cult?" he asked, intrigued, as they got out of the jeep. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"  
"No, it just happened. I'll tell you about it later. Right now I want you to meet David."  
The door of the building opened and a tall Aleut man in his late forties appeared. Beside him, a blonde woman a head shorter than he was slid into place beside him. He curled his arm around her shoulders. "Eli," he called in a deep, resonant voice. His head tilted slightly, and Blair could tell just from the listening angle and the slight narrowing of his eyes that this was the Sentinel, and that he was using his senses to study Blair.  
After a second's inspection, he smiled. "So this is the famous Blair Sandburg."  
When Blair grimaced involuntarily, he caught himself. "Gaah. That was a stupid thing to say. Reminds me of the way idiots used to act after I'd thrown the winning touchdown." He walked to meet Blair and Eli, his wife at his side, and he stuck out his hand to Blair. "I've gone the fifteen-minutes-of-fame route myself. It's not necessarily a delight, is it, young Sandburg."  
Blair let out his breath in a sigh. "No, it sure isn't," he admitted.  
"I'm David Meganack. This is JoAnne, my wife, and our doctor. Jo, I bet you never thought you'd meet someone else like Peter, did you?"  
"Oh, come on," called a dramatic voice from the doorway behind them. "There's no one like me. I'm unique."  
Blair stared because instead of "unique", the man who had spoken might have been a Xerox of David. The difference between them was that the second man wore his hair long and pulled back in a braid at the nape of his neck. Unlike David in his lumberjack's shirt not too different from Blair's, Peter wore an Izod shirt, cargo pants, and Nikes.  
"You're twins," Sandburg blurted.  
"Identical twins," David said in tones of great resignation. Peter made a wry face and gave his brother a light punch in the arm.  
JoAnne smiled at them both. "They're such children," she said.  
"So," said Peter to Blair, "you're the cheechako."  
"If that means 'shaman', maybe," Blair said doubtfully. "But I bet it doesn't." He rolled questioning eyes at Stoddard.  
The older man chuckled. "'Newcomer' is the polite translation. You're not from Alaska; you're from the Lower Forty-eight."  
"Greenhorn?" Blair suggested. "I can live with that."  
"Come in." JoAnne ushered them into a warm, cozy living room that stretched the length of the house. One wall was given over to technology; a computer setup with monitor, scanner, and printer; a sound system with huge speakers; a television set with two VCRs. No one could say the Twentieth Century had not found Hovik. But Eli had mentioned a TV in the community center.  
"You didn't pick up on my press conference here?" he asked.  
David followed his eyes. "Frankly, I'm more inclined to hang on the internet than watch the idiot box. It was my grandfather, my mother's father, who saw you on television. He's rather addicted to CNN. Have a chair. You'll be bunking with us, and you're in plenty of time for dinner tonight. Resign yourself to Jo's special pot roast. We only serve whale meat and blubber on special occasions." His eyes twinkled.  
"That's okay, I'm on a low blubber diet," Blair retorted. He liked this man.  
Peter gave a snort of laughter. "He's an anthropologist, Davy. He's probably eaten worse than anything we could throw at him. Eli never turns a hair, no matter what we do."  
"He does know when somebody bullshits him," David replied. "Sit down, Blair. I've been wanting to talk to you for a long time, long before the press conference. Many times I thought of e-mailing you, but I never did."  
Blair felt his eyes widen. "You knew who I was?"  
"Of course. I'm a Sentinel. I didn't know the terminology for what I was and did until I did some web crawling and found some of your published work. We've always had someone here who protected the tribe; my great-uncle Ivan was the last before me. None of the elders or the tribal council has ever been internet-savvy until I came along. I've read everything of yours I could lay my hands on. There were times when it was a tremendous help."  
"That's great." Blair hadn't expected that. It made him wonder if David was the only Sentinel who had tracked him down. No one had ever contacted him, so he had no way of knowing. But if his papers had helped isolated Sentinels, it made a lot of the rough times worth it. "We can stay in touch by e-mail once I go back."  
"I think I'm not supposed to know about Jim Ellison, so when we talk, we'll just assume that you're talking about sentinel abilities in general," David said. "I've known all my life about the sensory abilities, and I remembered seeing my great uncle and his shaman when I was a little boy, so it seemed natural to me. I don't know how widespread the ability is. I've never heard of anyone else in the entire region." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand that probably covered thousands of square miles. "But Uncle Ivan knew another before I was born. They would meet to talk of joint dangers and plan for harsh winters. Uncle Ivan said that line died out."  
"They would meet?" Blair froze. "There weren't any...problems when two Sentinels got together?"  
"Not that Uncle Ivan ever said."  
What did that mean? Was it because each had his own territory already and didn't threaten the other's? Alex Barnes had come into Jim's territory uncentered, without a guide, unaware of her abilities, a loose cannon. There was also the male/female thing. Did that mean that Jim could come up here and meet with David? It would be so great if he could get Jim away from Cascade, even for a few days. He'd have to check it out.  
"Did your uncle ever leave any notes?"  
David grinned. "Well, that would have been difficult. He never learned to write. He was very much a man of the outdoors, the old school. He went out with a spear and killed a bear for his manhood ritual."  
"A bear? With a spear? Is this more of the 'blubber for dinner' stuff or is it for real?"  
Peter gave a snort of laughter. "Definitely real. The times have changed. Our own father did it, too, but this is nearly the twenty-first century. David's manhood ritual consisted of a football scholarship to Northwestern. Guess the Big Ten thought if he could throw a spear, he could throw a football."  
"You're kidding? You played college ball?"  
Eli laughed. "This isn't quite the back of beyond, Blair. Wash away any preconceived notions."  
Blair grinned. "Like the Navajo shaman I met with you that summer--who turned out to have a business degree from Harvard? It's a small world these days." Then he thought of something. "Wait a minute. There are bears around here?"  
It was Peter who replied, gleefully, teasing the cheechako. "There are. They've been known to come right through town, moose, too."  
Blair gave an elaborate shiver. "You have made my day. I'll have to take pictures. They'll never believe it back in Cascade."  
"You asked about Uncle Ivan keeping notes," David said with a slightly repressive grin at his brother. "He didn't. I do. Always have. When I was in school, the teacher asked us one year to keep a journal. For the last ten years, I've kept it on the computer. I liked the idea and I've done it ever since. When Eli said he knew you and was going to get you up here, I went through it, separated all the Sentinel parts, and saved them for you. I know you'll need more than that for your new dissertation, but surely it will be a case of keeping all the historic information, your documentation on partial Sentinels, and your theories, and replacing the Ellison parts with the Meganack parts." When Blair's mouth fell open, he gave a hearty laugh. "If you could see your face. Months of work, I know, requiring you to see me in action. Fine. We can start tonight, after dinner. Oh, don't look so surprised. My degree is in English. I teach at the local school. I also write novels in my spare time. Rugged, manly adventures of life in the wilderness. I bet your buddy Jim has read them, and if he hasn't, I'll send a couple back with me when you go home. All that means is that I know how long it takes to physically write a book. Editing doesn't take quite as long, although it can be tougher. Well, Blair, what do you think? Will we get along?"  
Blair couldn't hold back his smile. He realized he owed Eli Stoddard more than he would ever be able to repay for guiding him to this man. "I think we'll manage just fine."

*****

Pain stabbed through his leg, so vivid that Jim Ellison jolted out of a sound sleep and jerked himself upright. The muscle spasmed, cramped. The first seconds of wakefulness were a blurred nightmare of pain, then it eased under his kneading fingers and he lay there, curled around the leg as best he could, conscious of the hollow in his mind where his senses had been. Gone. They were still gone.  
As the talons of pain loosened the injury, he sat up. God, he was drenched in sweat. This was not good. If it happened at work, he wouldn't be able to cover it up. Simon would have him back at the doctor, maybe even in the hospital, so fast his head would spin. Simon might not like being hospitalized any more than Jim did, but he didn't quite play the macho thing as strongly. Besides, he tended to fuss over his men far more than he ever fussed over himself.  
Four a.m. Hell, he had an appointment with Doctor Harlan this afternoon. Maybe it wouldn't kill him to mention these pain spikes. Suppose there was an infection the tests had missed.  
Maybe his senses had shut down because of whatever was wrong with his leg. If he were running with normal senses, he'd have lost it completely over this latest pain. Even now, his nerve endings quivered with faint aftershocks, and his stomach knotted tight in anticipation of a repeat performance. Maybe the pain medication even deadened the senses. He could ask Sandburg--  
He couldn't ask Sandburg. Sandburg was in Alaska with Eli Stoddard and another Sentinel.  
The new twist that curled Jim's stomach surprised him with the ferocity of his resentment, not of Sandburg, but of that other Sentinel. Blair was his guide, not the other man's. Okay, he had his own, but still.... Jim hadn't wanted to be in the dissertation, even if he had been disguised as Subject A. Too many people would know, would guess. Blair had interviewed Carolyn, for crying out loud. She'd know. Too many other people; hell, they knew now. Most people had lost interest, written it off, when Sandburg had called himself a fraud before the nation. The Sentinel was old news now, soon forgotten. Jim wanted it forgotten. If he couldn't be "normal", he wanted to be obscure, unknown.  
But a part of him felt a niggle of resentment that Sandburg's dissertation would now feature another Sentinel. And that was damned stupid.  
I want him to finish the dissertation. I want him to get his degree.  
Even if it means he'll leave?  
Shit. Sandburg wouldn't leave. He'd given his word he'd come back, and he'd meant it with every fiber of his being. Jim could tell how sincere he'd been. Sandburg was more than guide/shaman. He was even more than potential police partner. He was Jim's brother in all but blood, and he didn't have it in him to desert Jim if he needed him. What's more, he'd taken a lot of painful crap from Jim over the years, and none of that had driven him away. It had made him wary a few times, but it never stopped him from holding his ground.  
It's not Sandburg. It's me, expecting to be betrayed. Well, get over it, Ellison.  
It was just that there had always been a subliminal sense of Blair inside, even when Jim had thrown him out at the time of Alex Barnes. It was something he'd never tried to vocalize to Blair, or to analyze himself. He wasn't sure when it had started, but he thought it had been fairly early on. It had been there, no question, when Lash had grabbed Blair. It was distinct from the friend/brother element, and Jim had always thought of it, when he considered it at all, as the bond that had grown between Sentinel and guide. Was it distance that had severed it now--or was it the dead zone that had been his senses?  
Was he cut off from Blair because he was cut off from his senses? The other times when things had backed off, Blair had been right there, trying to work with him, determined to help him. He'd be here now if he knew--but he didn't know. If he could sense the bond himself--and wasn't that what he'd been talking about in the hospital after the fountain?--he couldn't do it from distant Alaska. He didn't know Jim's senses had gone on strike. There had been too much emotion at the airport. He'd have put down any distress to that.  
Damn it. I hope I didn't screw up here.  
The pain ran up and down his leg again, not as bad as before, but strong enough for him to clench his teeth and brace against it. He rode it out silently, all his muscles taut with strain, and when it eased, he dragged himself out of bed and down the stairs to the bathroom, where he had left the pills from Doctor Harlan.  
The hollow-eyed man who stared back at him from the mirror looked like a skid-row bum who'd been living off sterno for a decade. Jim averted his gaze quickly, then he gulped the pill and washed it down with half a glass of water. Come on, come on. Kick in, damn it. Maybe he should be taking more of them. He'd tried to tough it out, cut back on the number; he was nowhere near what Harlan said he could have. But he'd never liked the logy feeling that came with muscle-relaxers. He'd save the pills for moments like this one.  
He didn't go back upstairs. Instead he stretched out on the couch. How many nights had Sandburg crashed here, sprawled over his laptop as he tried to finish all his work? Grad student, teaching assistant, police observer, guide. He'd done it, too, but at what price?  
Jim drew in a deep breath. If his senses hadn't been out on strike, he'd have been able to draw in the essential Sandburg, the subliminal scent of his guide, from the fabric of the couch. But there was nothing.  
God, Ellison, get a grip.  
Sleep came after that, ragged, unnatural sleep, full of scraps of dreams, distorted and ugly. He came awake with a vivid image of Blair, face down in the fountain, playing across the backs of his eyelids, and he jerked up so quickly that his healing leg shrieked at him in an accompaniment to the fading "Noooo" he had cried in the dream.  
Morning. God, he was glad. Since the dissertation had been all over the news, it had been hard to face the nights. "The nights, I warn you the nights are dangerous. The wind changes at night and the dreams come."  
Shit, where had that come from? Some idiot quote? A voice from the depths of his subconscious?  
You are losing it, Ellison.  
He dragged himself up and started a fresh pot of coffee, then while it percolated, he went to shower and shave. Maybe it would be easier at Major Crimes. At least he'd have something to do.

*****

"God, Jim, you look like you died and they forgot to bury you." Joel Taggart, halfway across the bullpen, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, stopped dead when Jim came in, and stared at him in alarm. He aborted the trip to his desk and turned his feet in Jim's direction. Lowering his voice, he said, "Is this some kind of Blair withdrawal?"  
Jim felt his mouth twist into a grimace. "Sandburg and I aren't joined at the hip. I just had a bad night. The leg stiffened up." Ordinarily, he wouldn't have mentioned his injury, especially since Simon and Connor had been hurt so much worse, but the last thing he wanted to discuss was the new problem with his senses. If any of them found out, they'd be on the phone to Alaska so fast Jim's head would spin.  
Since Jim still had his cane, Taggart seemed to accept that, although an element of doubt glittered in his eyes. He lowered his voice. "If this is anything to do with the senses thing...."  
Jim shook his head. "Just a restless night." The last thing he would ever admit to anyone, even Sandburg, was that the sound of his guide's heartbeat one floor down often served as a kind of "white noise" to help him sleep. He added hastily before Joel could speak,"I've got a doctor's appointment this afternoon." Maybe Taggart would take that as a plan to discuss it with Harlan. Jim wasn't sure. If Sandburg were still here, he'd have guessed, he'd have come along, and he'd have made Jim open up to the doctor. But Harlan didn't know about the senses. He might have guessed that the press conference was cover, but he'd never said anything about it. He'd accepted the "drug sensitivity" issue without question, probably because old Doctor Ames would have charted and documented it. But he'd never pried about the Sentinel thing. Just as well. Jim loathed baring his soul to anyone.  
"Simon in?" he asked quickly.  
"No, he called to say he'd be in this afternoon. Megan's here." He pointed across the room.  
Connor sat at her desk. She looked better than Jim felt, but far from peak condition. Major crimes was a pitiful place. Rafe still looked a little battered, Simon was out, Jim and Connor were walking wounded. The place was back together, the damage repaired, but the evidence of the Zeller crisis was reflected in the weary faces of the detectives. This one had hit too close to home.  
"Sandburg went over some things with me," Joel said in that lowered tone of voice. "When you're released from desk duty, I'm to partner you. I know Megan knows more about the...." He didn't say the word out loud although there wasn't a person in the room who didn't believe Jim was a Sentinel. "Anyway, he gave me some pointers and anything you want to tell me, I'll be glad of." He grinned suddenly. "Frankly, I'm glad of it. You have something more going for you. Gives the rest of us an excuse not to measure up to an impossible standard."  
Jim groaned. "Oh, come on, Joel. It's not like I'm Super-cop here."  
"Maybe not, but anything that gives us an edge is welcome. Knowing you, there are probably times when you hate it like you would the plague. But it does good."  
Jim glanced around to see if anyone was listening. No one appeared to be, and his senses refused to kick in to give him a hint. He let out a frustrated sigh. "Sometimes it doesn't feel that way."  
Taggart clapped him on the arm. "Blair is alive because of it. More than once. And so are a lot of other people. Sounds like a tough road to walk, but I, for one, am glad you're walking it." He studied Jim's face a minute, then he grinned and let the subject drop. "Come on, take a load off. I'll get coffee for you."  
"Take him up on it, Jim," Rafe called from across the room. "Get him to wait on you hand and foot." He exaggeratedly massaged his forehead then held up his own cup. "Taggart, I've got a headache coming on. Any chance of a refill?"  
Brown groaned. "Don't give in to that one," he said. "You do, and it'll be fetch this, carry that, for the rest of the day." He made a face at Rafe that didn't hide his fondness for his partner. "Give this character an inch and he'll take twenty miles."  
Rafe made a face right back at him, then he sprang up and went for more coffee himself. "Spoilsport," he said to him out of the corner of his mouth.  
Brown ignored the complaint. "Any word from Hairboy?" he asked.  
Jim sat down with relief and propped his cane against the edge of his desk. One hand sneaked down to massage his leg. "He called last night to say he made it in. He says bears and moose walk right down the town's main street." It had been hard to sound normal during the brief call. Let Blair suspect his senses were on the fritz and he'd be on the first plane back.  
"And I bet you bought that," Connor called from her desk. "Sandy's teasing you."  
"I don't know. There are bears up there all right," Rafe put in. "Maybe we all ought to head up there for some bear hunting."  
"Yeah, right, Davy Crockett," Brown scoffed. "I think you'd probably rather face a perp than a grizzly bear. I sure would."  
Jim took the cup of coffee Taggart brought him and took a deep whiff of the savory aroma. Well, mildly savory, anyway. He'd always been able to enjoy the smell of coffee, even before his senses had broken out again a few years ago, but today the odor was muted. One more proof that the senses were gone.  
Would they ever come back?  
He reached for the file on top of the stack. Might as well clear some paperwork away. He didn't look up, positive that if he did he'd see a crinkle of worry in Joel's face.  
If I'm not a Sentinel any more, will there be any reason for Sandburg to come back?  
*****

Blair closed down his laptop and stretched. "Thanks, man, this is great. I've got tons of notes. We're off to a great start. Your being a writer is a real blessing. You wouldn't want to write up a chapter for me, a perspective bit, about what it's like being a Sentinel? I could run some tests for you. Jim hates tests, but it isn't just to push the edges of his abilities, it's to...." He trailed off. He hadn't meant to do that, screw up about Jim, in spite of the permission. The habit of secrecy was too well ingrained. Even though David had assured him that he knew and they'd take it as read, it still felt like a betrayal to let it slip.  
"Well, Pete and I didn't perform any formal tests," David admitted. He, too, stretched before he stood up. Over on the couch, Peter Meganack sprawled with his eyes at half-mast, his feet propped on the armrest, one hand stroking his nose. He looked as if devising tests would strain his energy to the breaking point. "We had a lot of word-of-mouth knowledge from Uncle Ivan. He used to coach me when I was little, take me out in the bush and we'd see how many birds I could identify from the sound of their calls, how far away I could spot a buck--counting the points of its antlers from a distance, things like that. He'd have me lie on my back in a meadow and tell him how many different flowers I could smell. Or he'd have me put my hands down on the ground at the snout of the glacier--" he jerked his thumb eastward-- "to see if I could feel any vibration from its movement. The rate of flow's about half a foot a day."  
"You mean you could sense the actual movement of a glacier? That's incredible."  
"Would have helped out in the old days," Peter said without sitting up or opening his eyes any wider. "Sentinels protected the tribe. If a glacier was going to come crashing through a village, I'd say the tribe would be in danger, all right."  
"It's not as if they break loose and go on a rampage," David disagreed. "Avalanches would be a separate thing and would depend on a lot of other conditions that might have nothing to do with glaciers. But it might help to know whether it was practical to settle somewhere or not. I don't know. We've got the Weather Channel now and the National Geographic teams and modern technology. Sometimes I think I'm just a throwback, even if we are a little more isolated here than you are back in Cascade, Blair."  
"I think that somebody with the ability will find a use for it. I've documented a lot of cases of soldiers both in Vietnam and the Gulf who got isolated from their squads and one or more senses would heighten. Only on people with the genetic predilection, of course. And even then, it wasn't always all five senses, and most of my subjects said the ability went away when the need was gone or when they weren't isolated any longer. Out here, there have got to be times when you get away from it all, out there in the wilderness. I wonder if that tends to revitalize you." Would that help Jim? He always seemed brighter, more eager, even willing for the odd test Blair sneaked in, after a weekend's camping or fishing up in the mountains.  
"I can tell you that," David said. "It does." He stood up. "After lunch, I've set up appointments for you with a couple of people I've worked with over the years. The local search-and-rescue team, for instance. I'm a member. Peter and I are both climbers so when some idiot tenderfoot gets stuck on a crag, we get called out. They always get me to be the one to track the missing ones."  
"Bounding gracefully from boulder to boulder," offered Peter.  
"What about you?" Blair asked him. "Are you a shaman?"  
Peter sat bolt upright. "You mentioned shamans before. But you--I mean, you're a Sentinel's guide, and I've read your material, but a shaman--well, there's more to it than just testing the senses. I figured you didn't really know much about that part of it."  
Blair shivered. Sometimes the memory of that moment when Incacha grabbed him and passed on the shaman function sent chills up and down his back. There was so much more to being a guide than just shaking Jim out of a zone-out and figuring out ways for him to use his abilities. A shaman used powers that Blair didn't understand and didn't know if he possessed. There were so many facets of the title. Ritual death was even a part of it, and Blair had undergone that at the fountain. Remembering that moment of his death/dream, when the wolf and panther had merged, still awed him. He was convinced that was the real start of his shamanship, and the beginning of a deeper blending and understanding, with Jim. Of course it had scared the hell out of Jim, who was still all twisted up with the Alex thing, and he'd backed off. Blair had been a little freaked himself, and he'd let it go. If he'd persisted, maybe he and Jim wouldn't have danced around the dissertation the way they had, and it might not have come to the press conference.  
When I go back, we have to deal with that. We have to.  
"I know a little," he said to Peter. "I've had some...experiences. But in spite of all my research and knowing so much about it from a theoretical perspective, I still have to run full-tilt to keep up. I might have the theory down cold, but you have the practical experience. I hope we can get down to it and exchange information."  
Peter grinned lazily. "I could do that. When I heard you were coming, I had this weird thought; you were a trained guide. I thought I wouldn't want you within ten miles of David. I thought maybe there'd be problems, that you'd horn in, or that I'd react weirdly. I don't know. Something like that."  
Like Jim and Alex Barnes. "I never thought there might be a problem if two guides came face to face," Blair admitted. "It didn't occur to me. Now that I'm here, what do you think?"  
"Hasn't been a problem. The minute Eli drove you up here and I saw you, I knew it was okay. It was as if there was a kind of recognition." He paused, then he spoke more softly. "I look out of a wolf's eyes, too."  
Blair stared at him, and his breath went out in a whoosh. That was so private; he'd never shared it with anyone. Even Jim only knew because of what had happened at the fountain. Yet Peter Meganack looked at him and knew, just like that. Was there more to the guide thing than Blair had ever dreamed? This was so incredible.  
"You do? I never even thought about that. David! You must have visions of your spirit animal."  
David laughed. "See, Peter? Just because they come from a city doesn't mean they aren't like us." He turned back to Blair, and fished out something that dangled from a thong around his neck. It was a stylized bear of a tribal design. "I have a bear's spirit. It can enter me and give me the bear's power." He caught and held Blair's gaze, his face expectant.  
"I bet you never thought you could admit something like that to a cheechako," Blair said with a ready grin.  
The front door opening broke the mood as JoAnne came in with a sack of groceries tucked in the crock of her arm. "David, those boys are out again with their ridiculous horns. They didn't bother me, but they're so...eerie. Is there anything you can do?"  
"Horns?" Blair's mental picture of a troupe of trumpeters vanished when Peter lifted his hands to the sides of his head and waggled his fingers. Curious, Blair went over to the window and looked out. There were three teenage boys heading down the street. They were clad in jeans and tee shirts with hiking boots on their feet. Normal kids--until you saw the weird horns they wore that mounted to leather bands around their foreheads. The horns weren't anything like deer or elk antlers, but tall spikes that rose up just above the temples. "What's that about?" he asked.  
"The Hob cult," JoAnne said. "It's bizarre. Kids get weird fixations."  
"Eli said something about that just before we got here," he admitted, "but he didn't explain."  
"Usually the kids fixate on the modern; they tend to scorn the ways of their ancestors, remind us that it's nearly the millennium. But some of them found out about the ancient demon Hob Anagarok, and they formed a Hob cult. They haven't done any harm yet, but we're keeping an eye on them."  
"Hob Anagarok? I haven't heard of that one." Blair's field of study was living cultures, not necessarily ancient legends, but he knew a few from the various tribes he'd lived among.  
"It's a pretty rare legend," David admitted. "The Hob was supposed to have been placed here to rule the earth before men came, when the land was still hot. He was a fire demon. When human beings came here, Hob attacked them, but they defeated him, sealed him up in a block of black ice, and sank him to the ocean bottom. When he was gone, the heat left the land, and it grew cold. Which is an Inuit origin myth. These kids aren't Inuit, but they got interested, and they decided that Hob had gotten a raw deal."  
"Not to mention an illogical legend," Peter chipped in. "Ice usually floats, after all--and you'd think a fire demon would have been able to melt it."  
"You're not supposed to think of things like that." JoAnne swatted him on the arm. "I don't suppose any of you manly men gave lunch a thought? I've got open clinic this afternoon, and I have some notes to dictate before then."  
"Oh, I thought about it," Peter assured her fervently. "I thought about your wonderful cooking, and I wondered when you'd get home."  
"She doesn't have to feed you, you know," David said. "She has a job, and I'm on summer vacation. I'll fix lunch. Blair, want to help me?"  
"Sure. You can tell me more about this Hob thing while we work. Have you sensed anything weird about those kids?" he asked as they started for the kitchen.

*****

"Actually muscle spasms are fairly normal in these cases, Detective Ellison."  
Doctor Harlan was a medium-sized man in his late thirties. Whoever assigned coloring to people must have decided not to exert much effort in Harlan's case because he was fairly tawny all over. Neutral hair, neutral skin tone, hazel eyes, combined with such regular features made it hard to find anything unique about his appearance. Average-looking was the best Jim could manage. Harlan would make an excellent bank robber; the witnesses would never be able to describe him.  
As for bedside manner, he might well have sent in for his with a cereal-box coupon. Bland. Jim didn't feel he had any better handle on the guy than he had at the time of his first visit a few months earlier. He was no hail-fellow-well-met.  
"Normal enough to wake me up out of a sound sleep?" he challenged.  
"Certainly. When you sleep, your body relaxes. When you're awake, you're consciously braced against the chance of pain. Your muscles around the injury react to it and you shift your body weight differently when you walk. You know it's going to hurt because bullet wounds always do, so you block it. Because of your drug sensitivities, I can't give you the standard painkillers, either. So when you sleep, you relax and the abused muscles loosen. Pain is normal at such a time. You will find it eases nicely over the next week, at which time we can dispense with the cane. Your leg is healing normally."  
Normally? Jim had taken a bullet before, and it had never reacted quite like this. Could it be connected with the screwing up of his senses? Maybe it wasn't the Sandburg thing but some weird Sentinel crisis they hadn't encountered yet? Which was the cause, which the effect?  
Normally, Sandburg would be here. He'd get it out of Jim that he was hurting in a heartbeat, and he'd fuss and pester and drive Jim nuts, and a part of Jim that had never known that kind of mother-hen protection would thrive on it while the rest of him went macho and tried to act as if it didn't matter. William Ellison had not been a fussing man; even now that he and Jim were beginning to build bridges--and how much of that was due to Sandburg's urgings?--he had come around and asked after Jim in a hearty male way. When he had learned that the wound was relatively minor and there would be no lingering problems, he'd clapped his son on the shoulder and said, "Good. Good." It was left for Blair to say, "Are you sure you're not pushing, Jim? Do we need to work on the pain dial?"  
"So what can I do about these muscle spasms?" he asked the doctor practically.  
"Well, if they come on when you're at home, you might want to try a heating pad. Not set at high and not for extended periods, and don't go to sleep with it on, but just to relax the muscles at a time when you're awake. I imagine your other leg aches, too."  
Jim looked surprised. "Well, yeah. I assumed that was because it was practically doing double duty, because I wasn't walking quite normally."  
Harlan beamed as if Jim were a bright student. "Excellent reasoning. You might try elevating your legs in the evening. Watch television lying on your couch, for instance. I know you police officers. You all feel you must be Superman. I know your captain was also injured. I presume he's sensibly working at his desk, if he's back to the office at all."  
"Part time," Jim admitted. "But he was hurt a lot worse than I was."  
"That's as it may be, Detective. But you are not cleared for anything but desk duty yet. You'd be a danger to yourself and your partner in the field." He arched one tawny eyebrow. "Now that your friend isn't riding with you as an observer, do you have a partner?"  
God, his personal business was all over the media. Jim felt his jaw muscles tighten. "Yeah," he said. "I'll be partnered when I'm on the street again."  
"Well, no hurry. I won't clear you for that for a couple of weeks, depending how this works out. It is coming along very well." He prodded the edges of the healing wound with gentle fingers. "The nurse will replace the dressing. You can take it off to shower." He smiled. "You will live, Detective Ellison. Where's your friend today? I half expected him in here second-guessing me."  
"That's just the way he is," Jim said. "He's out of town."  
"Laying low till the dust settles? A wise man. I imagine being a Sentinel's guide is no easy job." When Jim's frown overwhelmed his face, Harlan held up both hands. "Seriously, detective, I assumed that was what the drug sensitivity thing was about. I do have access to all your medical records. But I also understand you need to repress that information. Don't forget, I'm bound to keep your case confidential. It just might make it easier for me to treat you if we could openly discuss--" He broke off when Jim's face closed away from him. "Very well. I'll take it as a given. But it is possible that your pain spikes tie in with that subject you won't discuss. Heightened senses.... No, easy, I'll let it go. You are healing normally. Those muscle relaxants won't go you a bit of good in the bottle. Are you taking them?"  
Jim knew he wasn't taking them for every twinge. He didn't even carry them with him to work. "I take them when it's bad," he admitted.  
"You do realize the damaged muscles will heal better if they are at ease. It's probably better to take too few than too many, but I get the idea Sandburg has set up all sorts of red lights for you on the taking of medicine."  
Jim didn't answer that, either. Sandburg's concern wasn't something he wanted to discuss with Harlan; even if the man knew Jim was a Sentinel, as long as he didn't officially confirm it, it remained no more than an assumption.  
"Well, I'll write you up for one refill if you need it. I can see I don't have to worry about you overdoing. Very well, Detective. You make it difficult, but as long as the wound is healing, I won't dispute you. After the nurse replaces the dressing, you can get dressed and go." He stuck out his hand for Jim to shake. When the door closed behind him, Jim produced a smile that was nearly a grimace for the timid little nurse who crept in to rebandage his wound.

*****

"Blair Sandburg, meet Olga Patterson."  
Blair jumped to his feet at the sight of the elderly lady who breezed into the room with the fluid grace of a dancer and the energy of someone nearly thirty years her junior. From the world-map of wrinkles on her face, he put her age in the late eighties, maybe early nineties, but you didn't see a lot of ladies her age in saffron sweatsuits and tennies. No little old lady from Pasadena, this. She was nearly six feet tall, and in the shape of her face and the stubborn set of her chin, she bore a striking resemblance to the twins. David, who had been talking to Blair, went to kiss her cheek. Blair reached down to save the text he'd been typing, then gave her all his attention.  
Peter Meganack trailed in her wake, his wry face full of amusement at Blair's surprise. "Aunt Olga is Uncle Ivan's sister. Not a Sentinel, but she always managed just fine without being one."  
Olga met his gaze eye to eye. "More of one than you," she said. Her voice was steady and firm, and her fondness for her great nephews was vivid in her tone. "I could always smell the winter snow before it fell, hear the rumble of the distant caribou herds." She contrived to look mystical, but the contrivance was deliberate and she was enjoying it. Ancient native woman playing to cheechako gullibility.  
Blair grinned, enjoying it. "I bet you could," he said. "A couple of heightened senses anyway. It's genetic, after all. Runs in the family."  
"Speaks the world's leading expert." She was teasing him. Blair felt his grin expand into delight. She would know it wasn't because of the title she had accorded him.  
She did. "That's 'theoretical expert', of course. You know the source material and where to lay your hands on it. You know the historical perspective. Hands-on, of course, you fall behind Peter. Although he hasn't researched it and tested it the way you have."  
"No, but he's lived it," Blair admitted.  
"I'm told I'm not supposed to know that your friend Jim is a Sentinel," Olga said. She glanced around the room, spotted the most comfortable chair, and sank into it. "Old bones," she said. "An elder's privilege. Now, Blair, don't worry about me. The last thing I'll do is go on line and e-mail everyone I know about your friend. I've never talked about David and Peter, at least not about that."  
"So you're on line?" Blair liked Olga more and more. He could picture her at her keyboard, jumping outspokenly into chat rooms.  
"What, isn't everyone? My husband bought me my first computer nearly ten years ago. A Commodore 64. How I relished my first hard drive after that. A mere 30 MB hard drive. I thought it was too big to ever fill." She laughed. "But I didn't come here to talk computers, although I wouldn't mind a look at your laptop. I came here to talk to you about Ivan and Sentinels in the old days."  
"That's great." He'd asked David if he could talk to the elders, to see what attitudes had been toward Ivan and his abilities, but no one had mentioned a sister until now.  
"We all felt very sorry for you when we saw your press conference," Olga said. "This may seem like the back of beyond to you, young man, but we're in touch. Once you hit the news, I checked every website I could find that talked about you. I read your research papers. David and Peter, of course, had already tracked you down and knew about you. But I remembered Ivan, how he had to learn by doing. Of course, in those days everything passed by word of mouth. Even then, Sentinels were rare, and I think Ivan only was friendly with one other. Modern times tend to affect such men. What the Sentinel would learn by his abilities one bush pilot can learn by flying over the territory. Weather warnings come on the Weather Channel these days. What takes weeks to relay from man to man can be conveyed by wireless or telephone--and now by e-mail. My David is a remnant of an ancient age, one that has passed. Every time has its own perils, and I will not say if the modern age is better than the one that has gone. I think David's life is kinder than your friend Jim's. But both protect the tribe."  
Blair couldn't begin to lie to this woman, even to protect Jim, but neither was he prepared to come right out and say, "Jim Ellison is a Sentinel," to these people, much as he liked and was beginning to trust them, even though Jim had authorized it. "Jim's a cop. That goes with the territory."  
"What is it they say?" the old woman asked. "'To protect and serve.' A good motto for a Sentinel. Come, I will tell you all I remember of Ivan's abilities."  
"Would it be okay to tape it?" Blair asked. He gestured at the pocket tape recorder propped up on the table beside the laptop.  
"That would be good. My exact words." When Blair switched on the recorder, she continued. "Ivan was a good brother and a good man. He could make us all laugh; he was like Peter that way, although not as cynical as Peter pretends to be. But he was a good man, a caring man. David is slowly growing into his shoes, but he is not yet the man Ivan was."  
"And probably never will be," David said with a fond smile for his great aunt. "Good thing Jo's not here now. She'd be all over you for that, Aunt."  
"Jo and I are at peace over you," Olga said, then she turned to Blair. "The first time I saw Ivan use his abilities, I was five years old and he was eight. He stopped what he was doing--we were playing with a ball--and cocked his head to listen."  
David cocked his, much as Jim did when he heard something no one else could hear. "Yes," Blair said softly. "I know."  
"Ivan heard the bear before anyone else could know it was coming. He grabbed me and ran for the house, and I remember I cried because I'd dropped my ball. By the time we got to the house, I heard the bear, too. Our mother had none of the ability, but she already knew about Ivan. She hugged us both, and we watched until the bear passed. Then she said to Ivan, 'Thank you, son,' and he stood up tall. But I knew then that he could hear more than everybody else, and of course I wanted to grow up to be just like him. For years I was disappointed when I only had a shadow of his power."  
"It's like looking in the window of a candy store, isn't it?" Blair leaned down to switch off the machine. "Sometimes I think it would be the greatest gift in the world, but I know it's more than a gift. It can be a burden, even a curse. I've seen it."  
"So have I," Peter said. "I have different gifts, myself, but they have their own price. I think you're only learning that, aren't you?"  
Blair thought of what it had felt like to die. Usually he could push those memories out of his head and go on without them, but sometimes they hit him hard. After Jim had saved him, he had heard a voice in his head, speaking a language he didn't understand, but he'd understood it this time. Incacha. Telling him, "You have stepped into a larger world, young shaman." Just like Luke Skywalker as he began to sense the Force.  
"There are different obligations, too," he admitted.  
Understanding filled Peter's dark eyes. "And thus, your press conference." For the first time, Blair felt a sense of bonding with Peter--his fellow guide. It dawned on Blair that he had never before met someone who knew exactly where he stood. Not even Jim could grasp that, although he tried to understand. If only Sentinels and guides could meet and talk.  
But Ivan had met with another Sentinel. There had to be a way. If he could do it safely, if he could bring Jim up here, let him talk to these people who accepted the burden and bore it gladly, it would be good for both of them.  
He drew a deep breath. "Yeah," he admitted. Then he found a smile for Olga and switched the recorder on again. "What else do you remember about Ivan?"

*****

The telephone rang, the sound muted. Jim blinked himself out of the light doze an evening in front of the boob tube had induced in him. Newton Minnow had been right; it was a vast wasteland.  
Or maybe he had simply fallen out of the habit of spending an evening home on his own. Earlier, he'd caught himself standing in the door of Blair's darkened bedroom, gazing at the absence of clutter. He could feel Sandburg's presence there, but not with the senses that were so mysteriously muted. Frustrated, he'd gone into the room, picked up the pillow off the bed and taken a deep breath, seeking the essence of Blair. He couldn't sense anything. It was as if Blair had taken away Jim's Sentinel abilities when he'd agreed to go away.  
You told him to go. Don't wallow in it, he instructed himself. But it didn't do any good. He felt empty inside, purged of his abilities. There was no sense of the panther, no trace of the wolf spirit lurking in Blair's room.  
What am I? I'm nothing.  
Depression clutched at him with dull talons. Had he become so dependent on Sandburg that he couldn't last a day or two without him? This was crazy. Was it because Sandburg would be gone for months? Was it because the press conference had changed their lives? Sandburg might have been careless about the dissertation, but that was his only crime. Jim saw his own, in retrospect, as far worse. He hadn't exactly been approachable over the whole mess. He wasn't a let's-talk-it-out kind of man, never had been. Sandburg could do it, but somehow he missed, too, when it came to the really deep personal level. Far easier for him to talk about Jim's abilities than his own insecurities.  
So how had Sandburg woven himself into the threads of Jim's life? How had he become indispensable to Jim's comfort, to his very existence? It was a relationship he had no experience with. Different from lovers, since their interaction didn't get into the physical--and that was just as well. Steven was Jim's brother, but they hadn't been close for years and were only now approximating the casual affection brothers might feel. Sandburg was a friend, but Jim's experience of friends had been the casual drinking buddy kind; poker with the guys, fishing, traditional pursuits. He did those things with Sandburg, too, but there was more. A friend/brother, a combination of the best of the two? Did people do the Damon and Pythias thing in this day and age? Friendship was almost out of fashion, but even if deep friendships had been in style, Jim knew there was more with Sandburg. Was it a Sentinel/guide thing? He'd never have met Blair if not for his senses. If they went away, would the bond go with it?  
No! His instinctive protest astonished him--and didn't. Whatever the nature of his relationship with Sandburg, he meant to hold onto it with both hands. Maybe what made him a Sentinel also made him crave the companionship of someone who knew him inside out, who understood, who would stand at his side, watch his back, go to the wall for him. Blair had done all that, too many times to count. Whenever Jim was down, Blair was there, steadfast in his determination, his very body language signaling his intent to stick with Jim. He'd even hesitated about going to Alaska to grab this last chance to get his degree, to do his Sentinel dissertation. Jim could never have stood in the way of Blair's life work. Blair had always been there for him. This time, Jim meant to be there for Sandburg.  
But he hadn't known he'd feel so desolate.  
The phone muttered at him again, and he groaned and went to answer it. The TV chattered in the background, but the noises from the street were gone. Probably only the roar of motorcycles and the wail of sirens would penetrate his padded hearing.  
"Ellison."  
"Jim? I thought you weren't there. It's been ringing, but the answering machine didn't kick in."  
"Sandburg?" His spirits lifted. Just hearing Sandburg's voice boosted out of the trough of depression. "How's Alaska?" He tried to sound bright and normal.  
There was a fractional pause. Had Sandburg picked up on how down he was? "Did I wake you?" Blair asked.  
"Yeah, boring TV."  
"Not a zone-out?"  
"No, Chief, not a zone-out. I've been a good little boy. I had dinner over at Taggart's and went over some of your notes with him."  
"His wife didn't make those great dumplings?" Blair said wistfully.  
"She did, and I ate your share. So tell me, Darwin, how's the anthropology biz?"  
"It's great." Jim could almost feel the mental switching of gears as Sandburg put aside his doubts that Jim could almost hear over the line, without benefit of hyper-senses. "I'm getting lots of great stuff. And you'll never guess! David says his great-uncle, who was the Sentinel here before him, used to have regular meetings with another Sentinel. No territorial posturing, no weirding out. You know what I think? I think it's because each had his own territory and meant to stick to it, and they weren't invading or interfering. They also had shamans to control the situation. I bet...." He reined that in. Jim knew what he had meant to say, "I bet you could come up here safely." But if he went, Blair would find out about his senses being on strike. He'd give up his research and come back with Jim, and he'd blow his one chance to redeem himself.  
There was a pause, then an unfamiliar voice came on the line. "Jim, this is David Meganack. I'm your Alaskan counterpart. We aren't admitting you're like me, and I don't expect you to, either. My brother Peter is my guide and has been ever since my senses started to develop. He's going to work with Blair. We all like Blair and we're glad we got to meet him. We've wanted to for some time now."  
"You knew about him?" The man had a good voice, deep and resonant, full of character. It was the voice of a man Jim felt an instinctive urge to trust. He'd never felt that around Alex Barnes. Maybe that had been some weird mating urge that had backfired. Sandburg always said he didn't have enough data on the subject to form a reasonable hypothesis.  
David chuckled. "We may be at the back of the north wind here, but we do have computers, you know. Peter and I both spend time on the internet. We did research on the subject and over and over again we found Blair's name. His published works have been a huge help to us, just in fitting theory with practice."  
"He's got plenty of theories," Jim admitted.  
"He hasn't come right out and said it, but he's been worried about what can happen when two Sentinels come face to face. He was shocked to learn that Uncle Ivan regularly met with another Sentinel. Makes me think you had a bad experience. No, you don't need to tell me. But here's the thing. We've been brainstorming all day, talking to my great-aunt, too. She's ninety-four, but you'd never know it. I think she'll live forever."  
"She knows about Sentinels from long ago?" Jim was interested in spite of himself. Even more oddly, he felt no need to protect himself from David Meganack. Was it a like-calling-to-like thing? He didn't want to say anything more over a phone line that could be bugged, for all he knew, by master criminals or government undercover agencies wanting to get the skinny on the whole Sentinel issue. "That ought to give Sandburg a thrill."  
Blair snatched back the phone. "I heard that, Jim. You make it sound like I'm ready to go off like a rocket."  
"And this is surprising how?" Just hearing Blair's voice seemed to center him.  
Blair made a rude sound into the phone, then he collected himself and went off exactly like a rocket. "Jim! Olga says Ivan once encountered someone he called a rogue sentinel. Someone who didn't have his senses under control and who had his own agenda. He was bad medicine--okay, pax, guys, I know 'bad medicine' is a tacky way of putting it." A moment's pause and sounds like a minor scuffle emerged from the phone, followed by a burst of laughter from someone in the background. He came back. "Rule number twenty-three, Jim. Ethnic clichés are a no-no."  
"Don't let him kid you, Jim," a new voice said as if the speaker were leaning close enough to be heard. Maybe he'd expect Jim to hear him anyway. And it dawned on Jim that he wasn't really picking up the background voices except when they got loud. "He's far too easy to tease."  
More scuffling, then Blair came back, the very example of mock hauteur. "That was Peter," he said. "My counterpart. He's really a royal pain, y'know."  
Someone in the background made a loud raspberry.  
Jim snorted in amusement. "Well, Sandburg, I think that goes with being a guide."  
The roar of laughter from David Meganack in the background proved that there was nothing wrong with his Sentinel hearing. In spite of all the times Jim had longed for "normalcy", he couldn't help yearning for what he was missing. Scrunching up his face to aid his concentration, he tried to pick up the voices of the people in far-off Alaska. All he could get was a normal blur of distant voices. Maybe fractionally better than Sentinel-null, but nowhere near his usual acuity. Worse, the effort sent a savage spike of pain through his skull that awoke another one in his injured leg.  
He must have gasped because Sandburg's voice changed. The worry carried through the line from so far away. "Jim? What's wrong, Jim?"  
He grimaced. Blair could do the dog-with-a-bone number better than anyone he'd ever met. Carry it off lightly, that was the best thing. "Just a muscle spasm in my leg," he said. "The doc says it's normal, means it's healing. Don't worry about it."  
"Those pills won't do you any good in the bottle, remember that." He lowered his voice, although the other Sentinel would still be able to hear it. "You haven't had any bad reactions from it, have you?"  
"No, Sandburg, I haven't had any bad reactions from it." Not unless losing his senses was tied to it. Could it be? Nah, he'd been taking the pills for days before Sandburg headed north. And it wasn't as if he were taking more than prescribed. He was actually taking less.  
"You'd tell me if you did, wouldn't you, Jim?"  
For all the good you could do about it from thousands of miles away. He caught himself at that bitter thought, trying not to imagine Blair up there, laughing with another Sentinel while he sat down here, hurting, his senses muted. Ellison, you are one selfish son of a bitch.  
"Yes, Mommy, I'd tell you if I did." So why aren't I telling him about my senses?  
Because then he'd come home, and he'd have no chance to finish his diss.  
The senses went away before and they always came back. I'll just wait a little, give him a few weeks. Even if he comes back then, he'll have enough to go on, and he can always fly back up there if he needs more data.  
Satisfied with his reasoning, Jim steadied his breathing. "So what's this rogue sentinel thing?" he asked. The spike of pain had eased enough that he could live with it.  
"I think it might be one who didn't have his senses under control, who didn't have a guide," Blair said. "Or maybe somebody who wanted to move in and take over somebody else's territory. You know, I bet you could come up here. It would be so great, Jim. Maybe you could fly up this weekend, take a couple of days. What about it?"  
He sounded so eager that Jim was tempted. It would kill two birds with one stone; test out Sandburg's new theory and put Jim into a situation where he could get help without tearing Blair away from his research. Did he want to do that, go trailing up to Alaska for help, to reveal his inadequacies before another Sentinel? He had an idea the doctor would tell him to go for it. He wasn't that keen on the desk work, even if he had no real grounds to keep Jim away. What would be the harm, two or three days in Alaska? If his senses were off-line, he might not even cause problems with Meganack.  
Blair must have heard his hesitation. Delight burst into his voice. "Jim! You're going to do it! Oh, man, that would be sooo great." His voice retreated. "Jim's coming. Can you put him up, or shall I ask Eli?"  
A second later David Meganack was back on the line. "You'll stay with us, Jim. Don't even worry about your injury. My wife is a doctor. You're more than welcome. I'm looking forward to meeting you."  
He sounded so genuinely welcoming that Jim decided maybe he would go. After all, Alex had been a rogue sentinel like the one Blair had described. Maybe with no intent to encroach on another Sentinel's territory, there would be no problems.  
"I'll book a flight and let you know when I can get there," he said.  
When he hung up, it felt as if a ten-ton weight had just rolled off his shoulders. Sandburg would fix the sense thing, and if he didn't know how, maybe this other shaman might. After all, he'd been doing it a lot longer.  
A fleeting image passed through his mind of the panther and the wolf, loping through the Alaskan bush, side by side, and slid right out again. A Sentinel vision? Wishful thinking? Jim closed his eyes and sought after it, trying to sink into a trance. He was better at that in an involuntary situation, in dreams, or when Sandburg coached him, but he had to try.  
This time, he failed miserably. It was as if he were beating his fists against a translucent wall that shut him off from everything that mattered. He could almost see to the other side, but not quite. Only shadowy images lingered.  
Concentrate, Jim. Narrow the focus. Dial it up, slowly.  
At times like this, he could admit the value of the endless drills Sandburg forced on him. It wasn't just data for the diss that Sandburg sought, it was making certain Jim could handle the weird spikes his senses threw at him, control his abilities, make certain he was functioning at the maximum.  
No matter how hard he tried, the wall didn't lower. He couldn't focus, couldn't sharpen his abilities. He was still sentinel-null, and the harder he tried, the more his injured leg throbbed. Spots swam before his eyes and he felt woozy.  
He snapped himself out of it and the dizziness retreated. There was a sour tang in his mouth that made him head out to the kitchen to rinse it out. What the hell was this? He hadn't even had one of the pills since morning, so it couldn't be his drug sensitivity, could it? It had started before Sandburg left, so it couldn't be...a weird addiction to his guide, some crazy Sentinel screw-up neither of them had thought of before? It wasn't because Sandburg was gone, and he didn't think it was the medication. Sandburg had tested him meticulously, monitored his intake of it and his reactions, tested his senses, until he was sure that the drug wasn't going to screw him up.  
So, if it wasn't that, what was it? It was nothing like the weird experience of Alex Barnes in Cascade, so not the possibility of another rogue Sentinel.  
Maybe you're just losing your mind, Ellison, Jim told himself. He rinsed out his mouth, spat the water into the sink, and drank again, this time to gulp down the contents of the glass. Stress? The whole experience of the diss, Sid threatening publication, crooks asking Jim for his autograph, reporters bugging his dad and Steven, had added up to tensions enough to give an ulcer to a man with a cast-iron stomach. Maybe he was just reacting to the perceived threat. Now that the actual threat of Zeller was past and the reporters had found someone new to hound, Jim had lowered his guard--just in time for a bad case of reaction.  
Yeah, that's all it is; reaction. I'll be fine. Get in some fishing up in Alaska, hang with Sandburg for a while and everything will come together.  
I hope.  
He went back to the phone to call Simon and arrange for a few days off. With luck, he could fly out of here tomorrow morning, spend three days up in the bush with Sandburg and his new friends, and come back a new man.  
Or not.  
Another pain spasm in his leg woke him ten minutes before his alarm clock could go off the next morning, this one worse than the ones before it. The pain was so intense for a second that he blundered down the stairs in a controlled fall and headed for the bathroom, where he hunched over the toilet bowl and lost the contents of his stomach.  
But once he'd done that, he felt better, and his head was oddly clear. He'd still go to Alaska, but maybe he ought to run the trip past Harlan first, see if he had any advice. If his advice was not to go, Jim wouldn't necessarily follow it. But it wouldn't hurt to ask. There ought to be just enough time before he had to leave to catch his plane.  
"Alaska?" Harlan echoed when Jim got through to the doctor a little after nine. He had to call from Major Crimes where he had arranged with Simon to check in before his little holiday. "Alaska.... Hmm. This won't involve mountain climbing, hiking, scrambling over rough terrain, will it?"  
"It shouldn't. Fishing, maybe, but I assume we can drive to the river bank."  
"Fishing is fine, as long as you're not running all over the landscape. If you overdo, your leg will remind you of it. Pay attention to what it tells you."  
"I'll be staying in the home of the local doctor," Jim threw in as a sop. Never mind that he'd be in the home of the local Sentinel, and that there could be complications from that which would necessitate him leaving again as soon as he arrived.  
"Excellent. You go, Detective. Take your medication, and I'll fax an instruction sheet over to you to give to your doctor friend."  
Jim gave his fax number reluctantly. He had hoped he could put medical care behind him. Harlan offered common sense, so there was nothing to be done about it. A list of medical restrictions wouldn't do Jim nearly as much good as the presence of his guide.  
He hung up and glanced over at the clock. Nine-oh-seven a.m. How long till he'd finally arrive? Blair could do his magic number and the senses would pop into place as if they'd never been gone.  
Go on believing that, Ellison, he told himself, but what almost surprised him, considering his whole life expectancy of being let down, was that he honestly did believe Blair would be there for him, that he would have all the answers.

*****

A thunderous rapping at the door awoke Blair in the early hours of dawn, and he lay sprawled and sleepy in his bed wondering what was wrong. Rain had awakened him in the night, a hard, heavy downpour about an hour earlier, but it seemed to have stopped. Blair couldn't hear it beating on the corrugated roof of the shed that stood under his bedroom window. Nothing should be wrong today, not even rain; it was the day Jim was coming. But the banging on the door was repeated, and Blair heard voices in the hall outside his room as David and JoAnne roused and went to answer the door. David sounded alert as he went past. Probably the rain had awakened him, the way a sudden storm always kicked Jim's senses into play. Most of the time, Jim seemed to know when a storm was coming. Blair wasn't sure whether he could smell it or sense the change in atmospheric pressure, and it wasn't as if Blair had ever been able to recruit a meteorologist to work with Jim to be sure. It was handy when they were camping; a time or two, Jim had known that it was a good idea to pack up and return to Cascade. David was probably well up on local weather lore.  
Wide awake and curious, Blair got up and went into the bathroom to wash and shave. No one called to him, so whatever the crisis was, it didn't seem to be Sentinel-related. JoAnne was the local doctor, after all. Maybe it was a medical emergency.  
When he came downstairs, he found David and Peter at the kitchen table with cups of coffee and slices of toast in front of them. David slid his coffee cup around idly on the red Formica tabletop, his face abstracted. When Blair opened his mouth to speak, Peter held up a warning hand for silence.  
Able to recognize a Sentinel's concentration in David's absorbed gaze, Blair gave a quick nod of understanding and went over to the coffee pot. There were thick ceramic mugs of no uniformity lined up nearby so he grabbed one with a picture of Denali--Mount McKinley--on it, poured himself a cup, and joined the brothers at the table. Peter didn't live here--he had his own place--so why was he over so early? Blair sipped his coffee; it was strong enough to make his hair follicles quiver in reaction. Good. It would wake him up.  
David drew in a deep, testing breath, then cocked his head to listen. Whatever he smelled and heard must have satisfied him because he roused himself from his sensory abstraction and gave Blair a smile of greeting. Whatever had happened shadowed the smile and left darkness in his eyes.  
"I heard knocking. Is something wrong?"  
"Those Hob idiots set a fire in the wee hours of the morning," David said. "I woke up just before the rain. I could smell it. The brush is rather dry, or it was until the downpour."  
"Set a brush fire, you mean?" Blair stared at him, aghast. "Why would they do something like that?"  
"Why would they do anything?" Peter countered. "They're idiots. Hob Anagarok was supposed to be a fire demon. They haven't tried anything like this before now, and I think it was a bonfire rather than an attempt at arson, but still, it was stupid. I suppose it was inevitable those young fools would see what they could do."  
"But a fire would endanger them, too." Blair made the connection between the beating on the door and the absence of JoAnne. "Somebody did get hurt, didn't they?"  
"One of the kids suffered severe burns on his legs, trying to stomp the fire out. JoAnne's with him. They're going to have to airlift him out." He shivered. "He might not make it."  
A sympathetic shudder ran through Blair. Death by fire had always seemed one of the very worst ways to go. He could tell that David was imagining it for himself, for a Sentinel; the pain so acute that dialing it down wouldn't work, the smell of charred flesh, the rush of searing air into the lungs.... "Who is he?" he said.  
"His name is Joe Allen. His father is our local policeman. You can imagine how he's reacting."  
Blair could. He knew a great many police officers very well. Far to easy to picture Simon's reaction if it had been Daryl.  
"You could smell the fire? How far away was it?"  
"About the limit of my range, at least my range when I'm not focusing. It woke me up, but only just. I was just narrowing in on it when the rain came. I knew, subconsciously, that we would have rain in the night, but I'm not the local Weather Channel. I don't post alerts unless there's a major storm coming in. It'll be clear by nine." He took a hearty swallow of the coffee. Either he'd dulled his Sentinel senses to keep his eyes from watering or he'd accustomed himself to its strength over the years.  
"I woke up, too," Peter admitted. "Of course we're twins, so I think I have a heads' up on what's bugging Davy. But that could be part of a guide thing. I couldn't smell the smoke, but I knew something was bugging my brother, so I got up. Then it started to rain and he relaxed."  
"I could tell it was heavy enough to put out a small fire," David admitted. "And then I could tell it was out. I was going to tell the fire brigade this morning and we'd go out to investigate and make sure nothing was still smouldering, but Joe got burned and Joe's brother panicked and called his dad. I'm going out in a little while to walk the area. If the fire isn't completely out, I'll know."  
"I'd like to come," Blair said. It wasn't that he wanted to see the scene of the tragedy, but he did want to document David at work.  
David grimaced, and the muscles of his jaw bunched, just the way Jim's did when he was upset and holding it in. He heaved a sigh. "Joe was in my graduating class last week," he said. "A smart boy. He has a scholarship to Penn State. Now I wonder...." He slammed down the coffee cup and rose abruptly. When Blair would have followed, Peter made a hasty gesture with one hand and went after him.  
Blair knew from four years experience of Jim's heightened sense of responsibility that David was probably kicking himself because he didn't get up and go out to check the fire. Never mind the kid was probably already burned by then and there would have been nothing he could have done to prevent it. These were his people here in an even more elemental way than the people of Cascade were Jim's. They knew him, every one of them, and he knew them.  
Having been offered the liberty of the house, he prowled around in the cupboards until he found some granola cereal, and had a dish of that with a slice of whole-wheat toast. He had just washed up the dishes and left them to drain dry when Peter came back.  
"Oh, you cleaned up. JoAnne will bless you."  
"You guys don't leave the dishes for her, do you?" Accustomed to taking care of himself, and sometimes of Jim, Blair had never gotten into the habit of allowing a woman to clean up after him just because she was a woman. That wasn't the way Naomi had raised him.  
"Not if we value our lives," Peter said with a grin. "Davy's feeling pretty rocky. He liked that kid. This cult has been worrying him."  
"Has he talked to Doctor Stoddard about it?" Blair asked. "I know you guys probably get fed up with anthropologists who come up here looking for quaint customs, but he's a gifted man. He can probably tell you a lot more about cults than I can."  
"I bet you're no slouch in that department yourself."  
"I've seen a few. What I see here is the start of what might be a problem. Up until now, I suspect it's been a kind of game. Wear those weird horns, freak people out, like a fad. They weren't devil worshipers or anything like that, at least I wouldn't think so. But if they've started lighting fires--that ups the stakes. How many of them are there?"  
"I don't know. It's not like this is a huge village. There aren't that many kids of the right age. I'd say there's ten kids that age, and four of them are girls."  
"A little chauvinism here?" Blair teased lightly.  
"I haven't seen any girls running around with Hob horns," Peter said. "Nothing to do with chauvinism, although I think the traditional roles are a little closer to the surface here than they might be in Cascade. And I'd bet that, even there, a lot of the women's lib attitude is a pretty recent graft. Women in the workplace, but how many of them go home and cook for hubby?"  
"You aren't married?" Blair asked.  
Peter's eyes darkened. "I was. Maybe that's why I tend to resent the cheechako more than David does. Ellen was a biologist who came up here to study the local flora. We fell for each other in a big way. It lasted two years before she was craving the city lights. She tried to persuade me to go back with her, but I couldn't do that. I belong here--and then there's David. I think she was jealous of him, but the Sentinel/guide bond was every bit as strong as the marriage bond. If either you or your Jim get married, the woman will be marrying both of you, in a way. Ellen couldn't take that." His mouth quirked. "I somehow think Ellen could have taken it if I'd been the Sentinel and Davy the guide. She thought I was just sort of an also-ran, trailing along after my brother, like a buffer zone. It wasn't important enough for her." His mouth curled. "Do you ever feel that way, like you're the cheering section, and Jim's the star?"  
Blair blinked. He'd never put it quite that way, but he knew what Peter was saying. Jim's abilities made him special. There weren't any greater-or-lesser hangups in their friendship; that had an equality, in spite of the sentinel thing, in spite of Jim's police experience, in spite of Blair's broader knowledge base, that evened out. But when it came to being a Sentinel--well, there were times when Blair was so much awed by what Jim was that he did see Peter's point.  
He nodded. "Not that I'm hung up about it, though," he added thoughtfully. "I mean, there's no envy thing, or resentment thing. Oh yeah, there are times when I wonder what it would be like, and I think it would be so incredible. But then I see what Jim goes through; the type of person he is--it's harder for him than it would be for somebody like me, who would just love to try everything new. On the other hand, maybe you need a nature like Jim's to be a Sentinel." He hesitated. "David--"  
"You think I'm the cynic, the scornful one?" Peter chuckled. "Deliberate, I assure you. I used to be, well, a lot like you. Before Ellen took off, before a few other things that don't matter. David's comfortable with me. It's a twin thing, and anyway, we've always been comfortable together. And he's comfortable with you because he understands the guide thing, and he likes you anyway. Eli sang your praises long and loud before you got here, and I wasn't sure you could live up to them, but we think you're all right."  
"You guys are both great," Blair said, uncomfortable with the praise.  
"Of course we are. We're perfect." Peter pasted on the biggest, smuggest smile he could produce. Then he got back to his subject. "David's a worrier. That's where he is now, off wondering what he could have done different to save Joe from that fire. He takes it all on his shoulders. Because of that responsibility, he can be one hellacious perfectionist. JoAnne tempers that a lot. Or I cut him down to size like brothers do."  
"Or maybe the type of person who is a perfectionist is more likely to be a Sentinel." Blair stared at Peter, wide-eyed. "Just think, if it's a genetic thing, then maybe that particular disposition goes with it."  
"So is being a guide genetic, too?" Peter asked. "Or do certain types just have more of a knack for it than others?"  
"I've never found anything in my research to suggest that the guide thing is genetic," Blair said. "Unless certain people are more disposed to the shaman thing. Sentinels always fascinated me. I didn't even make the connection about the guide function right away. I knew that there were instances mentioned in my research about somebody backing up the Sentinel, and I knew about the zone-out factor, but it wasn't until someone once called me Jim's guide that I realized that it was a kind of official position." He hadn't thought about Brackett in a long time, but Brackett was the one who had used the term "guide" first. After that, somehow without even discussing it, Blair was officially Jim's guide, a title for the ride-along thing he'd been doing that was more accurate than "police observer". If Blair hadn't been here when Jim's senses had broken out, would he have gone the way of Alex Barnes? Or would he somehow have found someone else to guide him through the morass of overextended senses?  
"I just always knew about David's senses, the way Olga said she realized when she was very young about Uncle Ivan. It seemed natural to back him up." He grinned. "I ought to be there now, because I know he's brooding over poor Joe getting hurt. Taking on the blame for something that was never his fault, wondering what he could have done differently."  
Jim would do that, too. Times when he hadn't been able to protect an innocent civilian, he'd be hell to live with. It wasn't that he wallowed in guilt, but that he expected more of himself than it was possible to give. Blair had needed to help him tone that down more than once.  
"This cult thing must be fairly new, though," Blair disagreed. "And if it's just been a game until now, everybody must have thought it was pretty harmless, just one more teen fad, right?" When Peter nodded, he plunged on, "How long has it been going on? Is that why Eli and his people are here?" Blair had seen Stoddard the night before at a get-together at the community center, where some of the elders of the village told old stories while the anthropologists ate it up, tape recorders busy. Blair had seen Olga teasing Eli shamelessly, feeding him tall tales that probably came right out of her fertile imagination. She might have grown up in the old ways, but she had moved with the times. No unsophisticate, Olga had milked her audience for all she was worth.  
Peter's face grew thoughtful. "No, I think it was after they came that the kids started wearing those weird, spiky horn things.  
"Think maybe it started so they could find a way to put down the anthropologists? That could happen; the locals could fake them out with weird rituals that they made up on the spot, just to test the incomers, see how gullible they were."  
Peter frowned. "Well, there is some of that, I suppose. It's natural, and it happens anywhere, not just here. If one of Eli's kids asked about the Hob legend...."  
"Maybe I ought to talk to Eli about it," Blair decided. "Even if they didn't start this by asking questions that triggered some kid wanting to pull a prank, he'll know about this kind of cult thing, and what kind of trouble we might expect. If the other kids try to set another fire, we could be in trouble, even if this rain helped."  
"Go for it. He'd probably be more open about it if Davy and I didn't come."  
"I will."

*****

Blair had met Eli Stoddard's two students, Ken Rasmussen and Jake Lawless, back at Rainier and knew them casually. They'd already been up here for this field study when Blair had splashed himself all over the news, but they knew about it. Primed by Doctor Stoddard, they were inclined to be sympathetic--both of them had dissertations ahead of them and Ken was already working on his, although Jake was still an undergraduate. Blair had heard a long time ago what Ken's subject was, but he'd forgotten the details. Something about primitive religions. He must have had to practically memorize The Golden Bough. He might have known about Hob Anagarok and asked the kids about any local legends. Blair had done that himself when he went on an expedition or field trip; read up on a place, learned all the mythology background, and sounded out the locals. Sometimes they bought into the old myths and sometimes they gently mocked them, determined to move with the times. While there could be cultural hold-outs in any culture, no matter how connected to the Twentieth Century, Hovik had seemed modern enough, with computers and internet connections. Maybe not everyone had television but they had access to it at the community center if they didn't have it in their homes.  
Eli was just finishing breakfast in the tiny hotel dining room when Blair arrived. The walls were knotty pine, colorfully adorned with moose and deer heads mounted on plaques, hung with native artifacts. Of any place Blair had visited since arriving in Hovik, this one was most geared to the tourists who expected quaint Eskimo atmosphere everywhere in Alaska. Many potential tourists probably figured all the Native Americans in Alaska lived in igloos all year round, went after polar bears with spears, and paddled around in kayaks. Still, it would have made a nice hunting or fishing lodge. There was supposed to be good fishing about a mile or so outside of town. When Jim got here, they could track it down.  
Eli was wearing cargo shorts and a tee shirt that read, "Rainier University" on it, and his hair was spiking up in several directions. "Blair," he greeted him, and waved a bagel at him. He'd missed a spot on his jaw when he shaved. "Come in. Sit down. You heard about our tragedy? Of course you did. They'd have come for JoAnne."  
"They did," Blair said. He plopped down opposite the professor. The lone waitress, a chubby woman in her early twenties, migrated over and looked at Blair expectantly. He shook his head. She plopped a fresh pot of coffee on the table and turned a cup right side up in its saucer in case Blair changed his mind. When she departed, he plunged on. "I've got some questions."  
"Let me guess what they are? I've been asking some myself. This Hob cult seemed to spring into being around the time we got here a few months ago. You're wondering if something we said stirred up those bored kids to play the cult game?"  
"I should have known you'd have thought of that." Blair grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. "I was wondering if somebody had asked about old legends like this Hob thing. I never heard of it myself, but I haven't made any studies of the various native cultures in Alaska except for a quick scan of my books the night before I came here. I hadn't even realized they had Sentinels, although maybe I should have. There's a tribal society and a lot of isolation, factors that would create Sentinel potential. Had you heard of this Hob?"  
"Well, yes, but then I did a great deal of background research before we came here. It's an extremely rare legend, an origin myth, in a way, but mainly an attempt to explain the cold of the North. It's more prevalent up near the Arctic Circle than it is here. I'd be willing to bet that most of these kids had never heard of the Hob before we arrived."  
"I was thinking about Ken's specialty," Blair admitted. He shook his head when Eli waved a hand at the coffee pot, but did take the remaining bagel from Stoddard's plate and absently spread jam on it. "He might have been asking about the various old gods and legends."  
"I asked, too, but I asked the elders. I think you've met Olga Patterson, right? She knows all the old tales. She's an amateur folklorist. I talked to her just now. She said she'd heard of the Hob but vaguely. She found a very old book that had a picture of it; I am very glad it is a myth, for it looked about thirty feet tall with rather wicked teeth and claws, and it was said to leave fire behind in its footsteps."  
"Something big and powerful for these kids to identify with," Blair realized. "A lot of them will go away in the fall, to school, to find jobs. Their lives are changing. Maybe they wanted a last summer of empowerment."  
"I thought of that. A way of belonging to the world here, yet at the same time feeling above it. I doubt any of them actually believe in the existence of the Hob. This kind of cult isn't about believing so much as belonging; for the same reason, disenfranchised kids are susceptible to joining gangs. They want to belong, and they're suckers for someone who comes along and talks fast. In this case, I don't think we're dealing with a recruiter. Ken might be into primitive religions but for him to create a cult so he could study it would produce invalid results, contaminated by his tampering. That's the last thing an anthropologist would do, as you know."  
Blair heaved a sigh. Hadn't that been what he'd done with Jim from the very beginning? Even if Jim would have been fine with Blair outing him to the world, how could Blair know that any of his research was valid, because he'd been in there, coaching Jim? His help had been geared to getting Jim's senses under control and determining how best Jim could use them. As a friend and guide, that was essential, and there was nothing else he could have done. But as an anthropologist, his focus had altered the moment he became personally involved. With the best of intentions, he'd manipulated his results. What he'd written would probably never have passed muster as a dissertation because of that. He'd blinded himself to that factor from the start, but deep inside, he'd known. Maybe that was even why he'd left Jim's name in the research. He'd become too personally involved; what he'd written was a useful study of where Jim stood, but it wasn't as valid as a research project. He'd do that better here, where he was only gathering information. Compared with his original test subjects with one or two heightened senses, whom he had only observed, David's observation would fit right in and be exactly what he needed.   
"I know," he admitted. "God, I was an idiot."  
"No, just a little too close to it. You'll do better here." He leaned across the table and clasped Blair's arm. "I should have said something the last time I was in Cascade. But I wasn't supposed to know about your friend. By the time it went ka-flooey, I was already here, out of reach."  
"You saved my life, you know that."  
"You were really going to go to the police academy?" Eli asked. He squeezed Blair's arm once and let go.  
"I might still," Blair said. He wasn't sure if he really wanted that, although it tied in to what Eli had said about a need for belonging. Naomi had never taught Blair that, but Jim had. Before Jim, it had been all too easy to practice Naomi's "detach with love" philosophy and avoid forming close ties. But he had ties now, ties of friendship and brotherhood with Jim, even apart from the Sentinel/guide bond, ties with the men and women of Major Crimes, ties with the life he'd created. His mom didn't understand, and a part of her was uncomfortable with the idea of her son among the "pigs", but she had told him before she had flitted away to wreak havoc elsewhere that what really mattered was that Blair was happy, and she had been glad for him. She had departed in a cloud of remorse and vanilla-scented essential oil. Naomi wasn't exactly adept at picking up the pieces when she shattered things. She usually just slipped away as delicately as possible and left the fragments behind.  
Never mind that. It was just a fact, nothing he could change. The police academy thing was something he could change. It wasn't that he wanted it especially--a part of him, lifetime-conditioned by his mother, didn't really feel comfortable with the thought of becoming a police officer. But another part loved the rush he got working with Jim. He'd have been totally happy if he could have become an official police consultant, as Doctor Sandburg, with a class or two to teach on the side and an opportunity to continue to research. Whether he could make anything of that he didn't know yet. A lot of people had to give up their dreams, or make their dreams shift to match with reality. If it came right down to it, it wouldn't be a bad life as a police officer with Jim, and who said he had to abandon research, even if he had to wave goodbye to formal academia?  
"Don't give up on an academic career quite yet," Eli said as if he could read Blair's mind. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. "Cold."  
Blair pushed the clean cup at him and the older man filled it and took a sip. "They like their coffee strong here."  
"No lie. Professor, is there anything we can do about this Hob thing? Do you think it's cultural contamination?"  
"I'm afraid it may be. I feel very responsible this morning. I know Joe Allen. He liked to hang around the team. He and Jake got along pretty well. Jake's the younger of my two student assistants, just finished his junior year, and Joe was the oldest of the local kids who graduated high school this year. I haven't been able to find Jake this morning. I need to go look for him. I imagine he's feeling pretty bad right about now." He took another big swallow of coffee. "You aren't the only one who screwed up, Blair. I think I've done a bad thing here. If we contaminated those kids with the Hob legend--"  
"Hey, come on," Blair said quickly. "I know you would never do that, and even if Ken or Jake asked about the Hob, they didn't make those kids decide to play games with it. They didn't live those kids' lives until now and make them they way they were, and they didn't influence the way this culture and this settlement developed before they got here. Maybe this fire thing will scare the other kids and they'll give it up."  
"I have to talk to Jed Allen, Joe's dad. Nobody ever thought this cult was anything but a silly fad until now. But if my team helped bring this about, it was an unconscionable act. I'll accept full responsibility."  
"The same thing goes for you that I said about Ken or Jake," Blair insisted. "It's a crummy thing, but no one meant it to happen. That doesn't make it any less crummy, but the best thing to do now is to fix it. Deal with the kids, talk to them. You'll be good at that."  
Eli gave a snort of frustration and disbelief.  
"Come on, Professor. I know you will. You've been great with me."  
That made Stoddard smile. "Thank you, son," he said. "I better go and see what I can do to fix this. I think there'll be a plane soon to take Joe to Anchorage. I'm going to go and have a word with Jed at the clinic. Walk out with me. I'd like you to go and find Jake and Ken and talk to them. Would you do that for me?"  
"Of course. Anything I can do."  
Stoddard flung some change down on the table for a tip and walked with Blair to the door. "We'll get through all our crises," he said. "Eventually. Hang in there, and I will, too." He patted Blair on the shoulder and set off down the wooden steps to the gravel road that led through the center of town.  
Blair looked past him to JoAnne's small clinic, where a small group of the locals had gathered outside to wait for news. He didn't see either Ken or Jake there, so he looked on.  
Overhead, the clouds had melted away to reveal a sky so blue it looked endless. To the left, spires of mountains rose up out of a girdle of pine trees of a green dark enough to seem almost black. An ancient land rover chugged down the street, belching out unhealthy clouds of exhaust, and pulled up next to the crowds. A young native man and an old woman got out and he helped her up the steps to the clinic. The crowd moved aside to let them pass and several of the women in the crowd spoke to her. Blair was too far away to hear what they said. In the distance, Blair heard the faint roar of the plane coming to airlift Joe to Anchorage.  
He drew a deep breath of the crisp piney air, then he turned his back on the scenery and set off to find the two students.

*****

The first spike hit Jim right after the plane had taken off from Cascade. It started out with the old familiar muscle spasm in his leg, so intense he had to clamp his teeth down on his bottom lip to keep from freaking his seatmate by yelling. She was British, middle-aged, and practical, and he was sure she wouldn't miss a thing. One hand pressed hard against the leg, and the other slid into his pocket to find the bottle. God, he hated taking those things.  
The second spike was different. One minute he was sitting there, feeling his leg muscles gradually unknot under his kneading fingers, then next every sense he had was at full alert. The beating of the jet engines were a pulse that assaulted his ears and pummeled his body with the slight vibration. Overhead, the light he'd switched on to read stabbed his eyes like a spotlight. The woman beside him drew breath that sounded like tornadic wind while her heart drummed so savagely he thought it would explode from her chest. The smell of her perfume twisted Jim's stomach and nearly made him vomit.  
He froze into utter stillness, seeking desperately for the dials to turn them down. His senses might have decided to return, but they had returned without control. Turn it down, turn it down.... Blinded, deafened, overwhelmed with the taste of his own saliva, shaken to pieces by the engine, he longed for oblivion. The dials eluded him. In another second, he would have to jump up and run screaming down the aisle. Oh god, oh god, what's wrong with me?  
Then it was gone as if it had never happened and he was back to Sentinel-null. After the pummeling overload, he felt like he'd been encased in a sensory-deprivation tank. For the first instant, his eyes stared blindly into a grey nothing and his ears reported only a hollow hum of white noise. Desperately, he knuckled his eyes, then blinked hard. Come on, come on. You have to hang on. Have to get to Blair....  
If this went on, how could he manage to change planes, to find his way to the tiny village where Blair waited, so far away, so cut off from him?  
Then vision returned, slowly, emerging muzzily out of the nothingness, blurry at first, but then sharpening. Not to his Sentinel abilities, no, but to what he'd grown used to after he'd returned from Peru, what he thought of as "normal". He could hear again, too, the agitated voice of the woman beside him. "I say, are you all right?"  
"Sorry," he said in as normal a voice as he could manage. "I injured my leg last week and I still get muscle spasms. I didn't mean to alarm you."  
"That can't be good. Do you have anything to take for it?"  
He brought out the bottle. "I'm past due."  
"Ah." She didn't look at the label. Instead she flagged down a flight attendant and asked him to bring Jim a glass of water to take his medication.  
Once he'd downed it, he felt its familiar lethargy creep through him. That was better. His leg muscles finally let go and he could relax.  
Relax? When his senses were totally out of whack? He had to get to Sandburg, to figure out what to do about the mess. It couldn't be the injury; he'd been hurt before since his senses kicked in. Was it the complication of emotions following the notoriety he'd achieved when Blair's diss was leaked? Some other factor he hadn't thought of? He'd been crazy not to say something loud and clear in the airport when his senses had gone away.  
I couldn't have said anything. I'd have ripped off his future all over again.  
"You're going to Alaska to recuperate?" Apparently his seatmate considered his incident an introduction and had decided to make polite conversation with him. Maybe it would keep his mind off the sense thing and the leg.  
"Yes. My partner is already up there."  
"Partner?" A note of speculation filled her voice.  
"Not that kind of partner," Jim assured her, squashing down amusement. "I'm a police officer."  
"Ah. I see. Wounded in the line of fire, perhaps?" Jim made a vague gesture that could have meant anything. If she said one word about "brave protectors" he would want to wring her neck. She must have picked up on his unwillingness to discuss it because she continued quickly, "I'm an artist. I'm going up there to paint. Incredible country."  
"So I'm told. I hope I can get in some fishing." He made a wry face. "The hiking will have to wait."  
"You look generally fit, apart from a certain general malaise. I tell you what, officer. I'll keep an eye on you until we land in Anchorage."  
Short of asking the flight attendant to move him, Jim couldn't avoid it. He tried not to grimace. "I'll be fine."  
"Of course you will, luv. Don't worry. I won't pester you. I know how it feels to be pestered. But if your leg bothers you and you want the stewardess--I believe they like to be called flight attendants these days--you just tell me, and I'll give the word. I have my little book to read." She gave his arm a gentle pat. "Why not try to sleep? It would be good for you."  
Before Jim could reply, she picked up the book that lay open on her lap--Jim noticed it was the latest Tom Clancy thriller, by no stretch of the imagination a "little" book--and immersed herself in it.  
Jim leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. Could he touch his spirit guide? He hadn't seen a trace of the panther since this all began, before the diss debacle, actually. No whispery messages from Incacha, either. He and Blair had been coming to terms with the crisis and their joint reactions to it, but in spite of his determination to allow Sandburg the chance of completing his degree, Jim knew he probably still had some lingering bad feelings.  
Did Sandburg have them? How could he not? He had been eager to rush off to Alaska to see the other Sentinel. In spite of his gifts that would make him a great cop, in spite of his claim that he could never go back to simple academia after riding with Jim, there was a lot of the scholar, the seeker for knowledge, in his make-up. He could do it informally, of course; anyone could. But it wouldn't be the same. Did he resent Jim for that, whether it was fair to do so or not?  
Jim had hoped that they could get through it without agonizing over every point; he would show Sandburg by the way he acted that he was trying to understand. Sandburg was still at the loft--well, he'd left most of his possessions behind when he went off on his field trip, and he'd given his word that he'd be back.  
"It's about friendship."  
Jim remembered Blair's fervent proclamation when they'd talked about it, remembered the first time Blair had made that claim after they had returned to Peru and he'd decided not to go off on an expedition with Stoddard. Now he was making the same claim while he rushed off to join his mentor.  
Then it had better be about trust, too, Jim thought wearily. Otherwise there would be no reason for Blair to come back.  
We'll work it out, he thought with fierce determination. We'll work it out, somehow.  
As if his resolve had settled a lot of issues for him, Jim felt some of the tensions leach away. With the relaxation of his taut muscles, the pain in his leg eased. He straightened it out as best he could in the narrow confines available and let himself drift toward sleep.

*****

"The old folks talk a lot about Raven," Ken Rasmussen said a couple of hours later when Blair ran him to earth at the site of the fire. Blair's fellow grad student--well, he had been until a week ago when Blair was kicked out of the university--paced around the blackened circle that spread for about twenty feet. Someone had heaped twigs and branches in a big stack and set them afire. Crazy kids. They could never hope to contain it. But then at that age, kids didn't believe anything bad could happen to them.  
Ken's lean face was tight with anguish. He had a sharp nose and a mouth that should have turned down to match the lines of his face, but that usually turned up. Not today. His eyes were shadowed, barricaded under bushy red brows, and his jaw was tight, the way Jim's got when he was dealing with some inner crisis. "Raven," he repeated. "I could see a Trickster cult, but not this Hob thing. God, I am forty-seven kinds of ass."  
"You knew the Hob legend?" Blair prompted. He kept his voice neutral and nonjudgmental.  
"I've done a ton of research on the mythology of this part of the world," Ken said tiredly. He ran his long, spatulate fingers through his rusty hair. "The torngaks--animal spirits--the Innua. That's invisible forces that pretty much inhabit everything--maybe a little like The Force, y'know? It's like your friend David," and he gestured vaguely toward Hovik, "has the spirit of a bear, so the bear is his torngak."  
Like Jim's is the panther.  
"A sorcerer or shaman is called an angakok. They say Peter Meganack is a shaman. I've talked to him about it a little. He wasn't exactly ready to spill his guts to me. He did say it wasn't about casting spells or any other misconceptions I might have had. But my research says that shamans can visit the 'other world' at will. I thought I had a genuine angakok and maybe he'd tell me about it, but he just laughed and told me it was nearly the Millennium and that I was talking about old-fashioned things."  
But the 'other world' is real, Blair thought involuntarily. Jim had visited it many times, usually involuntarily, in dreams. Blair had found his way there a time or two, sometimes equally involuntarily, so that the dreamscape at the fountain had not been strange to him, but had awakened a sense of homecoming. Yes, I know this place. Since then, he'd tried various meditations to see if he could go there, and he'd achieved it once or twice for fleeting moments. You have a lot to learn, Blair. Maybe Peter can teach you.  
"Even if the Millennium is near," he said, "a lot of atavism can be present. In a way, there's a simpler life here, when nature can influence the people. Back home, when bad weather comes, we know in advance, stock up, stay home a day or two before they dig us out. Here, if they're cut off too long, they could die."  
"It's not that remote," Ken argued. "But I see what you mean. Up here, they're only a few generations removed from the rites of passage you and I would consider primitive. When I talked to the kids about legends, they scoffed like crazy--but I had a feeling that they were doing that because they weren't quite sure. A whistling in the dark kind of thing."  
"I know. I've been on various field trips and expeditions, stayed with actual primitive tribes. You'd find your more cosmopolitan types among them, who'd been educated in the modern world--but if you scratched deep enough, you could still find traces of the tribesman. We're just a little further from it in modern America. But what else is the fear kids have of the Bogeyman, or of monsters lurking under the bed but a hang-over from the days when a fire at night was needed to protect from real dangers in the dark?"  
"That's why I wonder now if talking about Hob Anagarok set all this up." Ken took a few quick strides up and down, measuring the damage from the fire. "That kid could have died. He still might. And all because they were playing a ridiculous game they never would have played if I hadn't asked about Hob Anagarok."  
"They'd never heard of the Hob before?" Blair asked. He felt for Ken. The anguish in his eyes was genuine. But he hadn't done anything so terrible, only asked questions. Blair had done that himself, in various tribal settings. Sometimes he'd found himself laughed at for mentioning the old gods, other times an averted eye would warn him that belief still lingered.  
"No. They'd heard of Torngarsak--the Great Spirit--and Sedna, goddess of the sea and the animals of the sea, Keelut, an evil spirit, Ataksak, lots of others, the way we've heard of Robin Hood and Paul Bunyan. But nobody seemed to know about the Hob. So I told them the story of how men defeated him and brought cold to the world, and they were fascinated. They tried to act like it was just a story, but I think it touched their imagination. Joe kept asking about it. His mother's Aleut, not his dad. Smart kid, had a scholarship. He was going to study anthropology. He'd planned on that even before Doctor Stoddard brought us up here. I talked to him a lot. He always had questions, and not just about the Hob."  
Blair would have jumped at such a chance himself before he started college. "He just wanted to learn. There's no reason why you shouldn't have talked to him. It's not your fault he took it the way he did."  
Ken stopped pacing and kicked at a charred branch. It broke in two with a little puff of ash, and he jumped backward to keep the dust from touching him. "Sometimes I thought he resented being a subject of anthropological research, y'know? As if it made him less than us. Crazy, isn't it? We practically hired him on as an unofficial assistant, but I could see he felt he had something to prove. I didn't think about it very much. My diss is going to be about remnants of ancient beliefs. I was always digging, looking for traces of hold-outs. I talked to Olga Patterson and the other elders as often as I could. I don't think I was ever patronizing."  
Blair smiled at the thought of David's elderly aunt. "Believe me, if Olga had thought you were patronizing, she'd have said so. That is a lady who knows her mind. You were just caught up in your research. I know the feeling. You weren't responsible for Joe's attitude."  
"No, but I could have been more sensitive to it." He kicked the branch again so hard it collapsed into pieces. "They're not test subjects. They're people. Not figures to manipulate, but folks with beliefs and values and loves and hates. I had no right...."  
Blair patted his shoulder. "If you know that, then you're ahead of the game."  
"If Joe dies, then the price of learning it is way too high. I don't know one damned thing." He turned away and stalked off into the trees.  
Blair let him go. He didn't know Ken Rasmussen very well; he was a few years older, and just knew him casually, the way he did the other anthro grad students. But he did know this was one crisis Ken would have to resolve on his own. He'd be there to listen, but he couldn't chase after him now.  
Instead, he looked around the clearing. It was about a mile from Hovik, and the prevailing wind blew from the village to this place. Just beyond the fire was a great rocky outcrop, bare of trees and brush, bare of anything but moss and lichen. Beyond it the ground fell away in a great drop to a chasm far below where a river cut its way through the rock. If the wind had been blowing from the west last night, the way it was now, the fire would have run up against the stony ground and burned itself out. Maybe the bonfire wasn't quite as crazy a plan as they'd feared.  
Unless the wind had changed.  
The rain had been hard and savage, and Blair remembered the way the wind blew. He tried to picture it. A storm could shift the wind. If the kids had built their huge bonfire in a place that would ordinarily be safe, what happened to Joe might be a result of a weather shift and not necessarily an attempt to worship the Hob by lighting fires in his name. Blair hoped so, although it seemed a high price to pay for stupidity. Joe Allen was a bright kid who didn't deserve the Darwin Award.  
"I hope you make it," Blair said softly, and went to find Jake Lawless.

*****

The dream wasn't a Sentinel dream. He knew the feeling of those dreams, the colors, the atmosphere, the jungle around him, the panther spirit. This was different, so vividly technicolor it might have been happening. There was Sandburg, standing on the edge of a precipice, gazing down at a rocky river miles below. "I screwed up," he said, then he raised his voice and yelled the words so loudly they bounced off all that jagged rock and flung themselves around the chasm in dying echoes. "Screwed up...screwed up...screwed up...up...up...up...."  
Blair turned his head and seemed to look right at Jim. "I'm sorry, Jim," he said in a calm, reasonable voice. "I'm sorry I betrayed you. I'm sorry I wrote the diss and let my mom get at it. I'm sorry I ruined your life. I'm just a failure, Jim. But that's all right. You won't have to worry about me any more."  
And he jumped over the cliff.  
"Noooo!" Jim bolted up so abruptly that he thought he heard his frantic scream of protest echoing through the cabin of the plane. But only Maude, his seatmate, seemed to notice anything wrong.  
"Shh, easy, easy now." Her hand landed on his forearm and stroked it calmingly. She had exactly the right tone of voice, just like Sandburg's timbre when he coaxed Jim out of a zone-out, when he coached Jim on controlling an aberrant sensory spike. Confused and dazed by the horror of the dream, he let her voice steer him back to sanity. It dawned on him that she might make a good guide. Maybe if Alex Barnes had had someone like Maude Selfridge to help her, she wouldn't have gone the way she had.  
When Jim's breathing slowed, she took her hand away as if she knew he would consider it a violation of his privacy. "My son had bad dreams sometimes," she said, "when he was little. I found that if I talked to him like that, it eased it. Was it a flashback? Post-traumatic stress?"  
Jim shook his head. "No, just a nightmare." Just? He'd lost Sandburg for a few moments at the fountain. He knew exactly how it felt to lose his best friend. All the emotions of that moment when he'd railed against fate--"This can't be happening"--had loaded the dream.  
I'm not going to lose him. I'll make sure of that.  
"I don't think there was any 'just' about it."  
"Did I yell?" he asked.  
"No, you just gasped and sat upright. I thought maybe your wound was aching, but then I saw your face. Perhaps you'll be better when you have your partner beside you."  
There was no "perhaps" about it. "Yeah," Jim admitted. "I think I will.  
His vision sharpened then dulled again, so fast he barely had time to recognize it, like a strobe light that only flashes once. He blinked hard and quested for control, but there was none. He couldn't even begin to locate the dials to turn control up or down. It was as if they were gone entirely, leaving him out of control as if he were driving a race car and the steering wheel had come off in his hands.  
Maude gazed at him penetratingly, just as the P.A. system came on. "In a few minutes we will be landing in Anchorage. Please secure your tray tables and make sure your seatbacks are in the full upright position...."  
Jim adjusted his seat. God, if only Sandburg would be waiting in Anchorage. But he wouldn't be. Jim would transfer to a small prop plane for the rest of his journey. He hoped he'd have time to walk the stiffness out of his leg before he had to board the plane. He didn't want another muscle spasm, not when he was confined in such a small space.  
"Well, so we're nearly there." Maude patted his forearm. "Do you fly on immediately?"  
Jim glanced at his watch. "In about half an hour."  
"Good. When you get there, you can relax. Beautiful scenery, no responsibilities, and the presence of a friend. Believe me, that alone can work wonders."  
Jim drew in a deep breath. What she spoke of sounded like nothing short of heaven.

*****

Jake Lawless was a big guy; he was on the Cascade football team, one of the linebackers. Blair found him in the village street, talking to a couple of the kids who were hanging around on the steps to the community center. Hovik had wooden sidewalks that ran along the storefronts, just like a set for a western movie. There was no saloon, but there was a horse tied up to an actual hitching post down at the corner, anachronistic beside the four-wheel-drive and all-terrain vehicles parked everywhere. Even with all those cars, the familiar automobile-exhaust smell so prevalent in any modern city was absent here. Some unfamiliar pink flowers that grew up the town's one streetlight pole put out a fresh, sweet odor, and someone was actually baking bread, the mouth-watering aroma afloat on the gentle breeze. On top of all of it, the tangy smell of pines, ever present, and the damp, loamy touch of fresh earth blended with it all. What it must be like to be a Sentinel. And that was just the smell. He could hear the cries of birds, the laughter of the kids who were playing an impromptu game of soccer in a field beyond the school, the shussshing of the tree branches brushing against each other. Jim could soak it all in, identify all of it, link each bird call with the specific bird, no matter how it darted about in the branches. He could sink right into it, know what was right, what was wrong. Blair could only enjoy, and he did, but sometimes he wondered how muted the world was to anyone who was not a Sentinel.  
Maybe most people couldn't endure the full beauty of the world around them.  
Or the ugliness?  
When they were out camping or fishing, Jim sometimes took a few moments just to sink into the sensations of nature. At first, Blair had stood by, ready to pull him out if he went into it too deeply, then, when he learned that Jim was simply absorbing everything around him as if into his very pores, he'd tried to imagine it, as if he could piggy-back on Jim's senses and see the world as Jim saw it.  
When he tried to imagine it, he painted a mental picture that was garish and much too bright, and he knew it couldn't be like that, not when Jim always came out of such moments with a sense of peace and replenishment.  
Brightness and contrast. Saturation. He sometimes pulled up a graphic on his laptop and played with those controls in his graphics manipulation program, trying to imagine it. But that was on only one sense and Jim had all five heightened.  
Oh, man, Jim, if I could see and hear and taste what you do....  
He put aside the moment of wonder. In a few hours, Jim would be here; he could stand right where Blair did and know Hovik better in just a few seconds than Blair had come to know it in a few days. Just a few more hours....  
He walked down the street to meet Jake Lawless.  
At the sight of him, the kids the anthro student had been talking to melted away and left him to Blair. One of the local boys, a kid about seventeen with gauze dressings on both hands, lingered a minute. He had Aleut features and fair hair. Maybe he was the brother of the injured boy, the one who had helped put the fire out. When he saw Blair coming, he darted a questioning look at Jake, said something hasty in tones too low for Blair to hear, and darted off after his friends.  
"Jake," Blair said in greeting as he neared the student. "Any word on Joe Allen?"  
Jake nodded once, curtly, then he nodded to a path that led into the trees. "Let's walk. I've been standing here listening to the kids moan and groan, and I need a break. Lousy thing to happen." His hair was as long as Blair's but straight and unbound. It hung in white-blond smoothness to his shoulders and he'd settled it into place with a leather headband with totem pictures on it that he might have acquired here.  
Blair fell into step with him and they started along the trail. It led in the opposite direction from the site of the fire. "Yeah, he's in the hospital in Anchorage. They think he's going to make it, though he'll need skin grafts." Relief flowed across his face like the smoke from dry ice. "He's got third-degree burns on his left leg from the knee down and his right one from the mid-calf down. He tried to stomp out the fire."  
"I was out at the site. I wondered if the wind had shifted. You could tell from the way the trees grow which way it usually blows."  
"That's what Sammy was saying, just now." Jake waved his hand back at the village. Already the buildings were out of sight, bringing it home to Blair how remote this place was. Only a few steps and civilization had vanished. "The storm made the wind shift. It picked up just before the rain fell. Weird, isn't it? The storm caused the fire to spread and then it put it out. You have to wonder. Nature takes care of things. All these native gods and demons Ken is so hung up on--well, they're probably just a way to explain how nature works. It's incredible, isn't it? A fire will thin out too-thick brush, but the rain comes or the snow comes, and before you know it, things are growing again." He grinned with a look of sheer delight. "Nature's incredible."  
"They set it up where it could burn itself out on the rocks if it got out of hand, didn't they?"  
"Well, duh," Jake replied involuntarily. "We didn't want--" His voice trailed off abruptly, and a shifty, panicked look flashed in ice-blue eyes.  
"We?" Blair echoed. "You were there? Are you crazy, man?" He ducked his head to avoid a low-hanging branch. The trail was hard-packed earth under his feet, a little slippery as a result of the rain. Blair was glad he'd put on his hiking boots. His tennies would probably have pitched him face down in the mud.  
"God, it was just a stupid game." Jake spread his hands involuntarily and brushed a tree branch. A little spray of moisture left from the rain touched Blair's face. "They heard about this weird Hob dude from Ken and they got interested. I wanted to see how they'd run with it, so I said we could set up as if we were Hob-worshipers. I'm not into that. I didn't believe in a thirty-foot demon. I mean, come on. This is the real world. it's nearly the Twenty-first century, for Pete's sake. Hob Anagarok! Give me a break. But I'm here to study. I thought I'd see how they'd run with it."  
"If you manipulate a test, you can invalidate it," Blair pointed out. "Sometimes you manipulate it on purpose in a controlled environment, but, God, Jake, not something like this."  
Jake started walking again. The trail sloped slightly upward, opened out into a clearing where a ruined log-cabin sat moldering beside the trail. Holes in the roof allowed the sunlight in, and any glass that had once covered the windows was long gone. A battered wooden canoe hung at a sharp angle from one hook on the porch roof. The other hook had lost its battle with gravity a long time ago.  
Lawless stopped in front of the cabin and leaned against the canoe. It had holes in it big enough to stick a hand through. "Lighten up, dude. It's not like we were gonna burn down the forest or anything. We were careful. Just wanted a huge bonfire. I wanted to see if they'd dance around it and chant, stuff like that. I played with it, but I left it to them to set the framework. You know, see how much of the old traditions linger. I took some great notes. I even video taped until the storm came."  
Blair shifted sideways to get the sun out of his face. It slanted through the trees and left mottled patterns across Jake's cheekbones. "I don't believe this," Blair exploded. "Stoddard will have you on a plane for home the second he hears about it. Not only did you induce a false cult here, you nearly got a local kid killed. You're going to be off this project. And believe me, I know from personal experience that the university will have kittens when the news gets out. I didn't even hurt anybody and they had my ass out of there so fast my head is still spinning."  
"Oh, come on, don't tell me you didn't manipulate your test subject? Let's not do this holier-than-thou routine, Sandburg. You found yourself a Sentinel and you remade him in the image that would look best in your diss. All the hell I did was dip into some old legends. It's not my fault that fire got out of hand. It was a goddamned accident."  
"Which wouldn't have even happened if you hadn't played god with these kids. I bet you egged them on. The cult thing was your idea, wasn't it?"  
"It filled a need. Those kids were at loose ends. They were just hanging out. Why not let them help me get enough material for a first-class paper? Stoddard knew I was researching the cult angle. He told me to go for it."  
"Which he wouldn't have done if he'd known you'd created it in the first place. Eli Stoddard is an ethical man. Where's the ethics in creating a situation like this for your personal benefit? I can't believe you were out there last night. What were you trying to prove?"  
"How an ancient myth as part of the collective unconscious can be resurrected. Just like you were doing with your Sentinel research. God, Sandburg, it's just the same. If you can't see that, you're living in a fool's paradise."  
"I might be, but I didn't mess with impressionable kids and cause one of them to be badly hurt. If you can't see the difference, I'm sorry for you." God, there's some similarity, but what I did for Jim helped him. I taught him control. I didn't teach him devil-worship. It's not the same.  
"What are you going to do about it?"  
"What do you think I'm going to do? I'm going to tell Stoddard. But you can help yourself here, Jake. If you tell him yourself, ask him to help you, he will. You got in over your head. He'll do everything he can for you. If you want me to, I'll go back with you and stand with you. I know how easy it is to get carried away."  
"Thanks for nothing. Don't you fucking patronize me. You know what'll happen. They'll snatch away my football scholarship, even if they don't throw me out of the university, and for what? Because they're such narrow-minded fools they didn't see the opportunities for research. God, I might never have a chance like this again. They're just a few kids."  
"They're human beings who deserve to be treated with respect. If you can't see that, then I really feel sorry for you. I'll go to Stoddard on my own if you won't come. Listen to me, Jake. You can't go on with this. Even if I didn't say anything, you think one of those kids isn't going to mention it?"  
"Not if they know what's good for them," Jake muttered under his breath. "They won't say one goddamned word or they will be so sorry."  
Blair felt a sudden trickle of alarm in the pit of his stomach. "You threatened them?"  
"Are you kidding? The little suckers are scared out of their fucking minds. I said the Hob wanted a sacrifice and that if anybody tells, he'll take one of them--by fire, just like Joe."  
"You are crazy," Blair exploded.  
Jake smiled, and Blair didn't like the look of that smile one little bit. Then, before he even realized what the student intended, Jake brought up his hand, and he was holding the canoe paddle in his thick, strong fingers. It whooshed through the air so fast that Blair barely had time to try to duck.  
The flat edge of the blade caught him against the side of the head, and he dropped to the ground like a stone. He didn't pass out but the woods spun nauseatingly before his eyes and his knees lacked the strength to straighten. After a moment, he felt hands under his arms, dragging him away. Woozy and aching, he couldn't fight the movement, although he knew he had to. Jake Lawless was backed up to the wall--he was crazy. Blair fumbled for reason. He couldn't let Blair live.  
Keep quiet, collect yourself. Gather your strength. You have to fight, or he'll finish you off.  
But he couldn't even force his eyelids open. His stomach roiled and twisted, and pain thudded behind his closed eyes. Each bump and jog as Jake dragged him through the bush sent a fresh wave of agony through his throbbing skull, blurring his reality still further. Hang on. Hang on.  
And then Jake stopped and let Blair sag to the ground. He lay there, as limp as a dirty shirt, struggling for the strength and energy to duck away. There was barely enough energy for him to clench his hands into fists. If he could fling dust in Jake's face.... But the rain had turned the dust to a thin, slick layer of mud and he couldn't find anything to throw.  
Then Jake's foot prodded him, pushed him, rolled him over, and he was falling. Brush crackled under him, twigs snapped. He slammed into a hard, round rock and he felt a rib go. Then he pitched out into space.  
Endless branches slapped at him. "Jim!" he screamed as he plummeted through the air.  
Only darkness and silence answered him.

*****

"Where's Blair?" David Meganack asked his brother as Peter joined him at the landing strip to wait for Kerry Quinlan to fly Jim Ellison in. The word had come through that Joe Allen would be all right, and a relieved euphoria flowed through the town. The kids who had been at the fire last night were still rather cowed, but David was glad of that. They deserved to be cowed after such a dangerous stunt. Hob worship. That was insane.  
Who could tell what weird things kids would dream up? At least, most of the time, their bizarre fantasies were harmless. So would this one be, from now on. David planned to sit the kids down and talk to them. With Jed at the hospital, the task fell automatically to David.  
Peter shrugged. "That anthropology kid Jake said Blair wanted to go for a hike before Jim's plane landed. He says he pointed out a couple of easy trails for him. Blair should have been back by now."  
"You don't suppose he had an accident out there? He wouldn't be late with his friend due to arrive." David frowned. "He was worried that something might go wrong when Jim and I came face to face. I'm pretty sure Jim had a bad reaction to a rogue Sentinel, and Blair can't help worrying that maybe there's some automatic danger zone. I don't think there is, at least not for me, but I can't imagine Blair missing this."  
"Maybe he turned his ankle." Peter didn't look alarmed. "I'll recruit a few folks and send them along the trails. Jake told me which ones he might take."  
"Good, you do that. The plane's coming." He heard the distant buzz of the engine. It wasn't visible yet because of the trees.  
Peter cocked his head to listen, then he flashed his easy grin. "I'll take your word for it, brother." He turned and loped away at an easy pace.  
My guide, David thought fondly as he watched his brother disappear. Knowing Sandburg, seeing his concern for his own Sentinel, had made David realize, not for the first time, how very lucky he was. He loved his life. JoAnne was the best wife a man could have, teaching was a fulfilling career, the senses behaved, and Peter was always there to help out. He'd gone out into the wide world, seen life beyond Hovik, and had chosen to come back to his own place. He was the Sentinel of Hovik, and that meant more to him than being the president of the United States.  
The plane circled around the shoulder of the mountain and lined itself up with the airstrip. Kelly was one of the regular bush pilots who flew into Hovik. She usually came once a week but she got recruited for the specials when she was free, and she always hauled in supplies when she came. All the bush pilots did. Kelly was one of the best, though. What's more, she tended to have an eye for Peter. Even knowing his twin as well as he did, David wasn't sure he had one back or not. Maybe Peter himself didn't know. He had grown wary around women after Ellen had run out on him.  
The plane settled down light as a feather and Kelly scrambled out to give her passenger a hand down, granting David his first look at his fellow Sentinel. Jim Ellison was a tall man, hair very short--a vivid contrast to Blair and his long curls. At the first sight of him, something inside David clenched up tight.  
It wasn't a rogue Sentinel alert, though. Not that. David's senses were fine. David was fine.  
It was Ellison who wasn't fine.  
David reached out automatically with his senses, testing heartbeat, respiration. His eyes narrowed into fine focus and met Ellison's gaze across the space between them. A part of David felt a sense of like calling to like, an understanding, a knowledge of what the other man was, deep inside at the core of the heart, but another part was crying, "Danger, danger."  
Except that the danger wasn't for him. It was for Jim Ellison.  
David made a quick sign to Kelly that he wanted to talk to Ellison privately, and she nodded and went around to begin unloading the supplies.  
David walked up to the man with the cane. "David Meganack, Jim," he said. "What on earth have you let happen to your senses?"

*****

Jim Ellison arrived in Hovik battered and aching, his ears throbbing from periodic hearing spikes that had let the engine overwhelm him in waves and then vanish to near deafness before returning to normal--or whatever passed for normal these days. The muscles in his leg shot spikes of pain through him as they spasmed, and climbing out of the plane, straightening his knee, took all the energy he possessed.  
When he saw only one man waiting to meet the plane, a stranger, he tried to reach out with his senses for evidence of his guide, but that didn't work. Everything was muted by the cotton-wool feeling he was coming to know and loathe. No matter how hard he struggled to push his way through it, he could detect no awareness of Sandburg's presence.  
The stranger focused on him and Jim recognized the tilt of his head and the way the muscles around his eyes tightened. Under the full weight of Sentinel surveillance, Jim felt no threat, no warning, no sense of danger, no twist in his vitals to spell out hazard. Not even an echo of his Alex Barnes reaction touched him when the guy stuck out is hand in greeting and introduced himself.  
"What on earth have you let happen to your senses?"  
Jim blinked. The question wasn't an accusation, it was alarm, concern, an understanding he'd never encountered before. Sandburg was sympathetic and he did his best. Jim wouldn't trade him for a dozen Sentinels. But there was a weird kind of peace in the knowledge that this was a man who could understand, completely, all the way to the soul. In that moment, it wasn't a guide Jim needed but a fellow Sentinel. When this was resolved, he would need Blair in the way he always needed him, the way he needed air and water and food, as an essential part of his being. But right now he needed answers.  
"You can tell?" he said involuntarily.  
The other man held up his hand. "Somebody will be along in a minute with the truck, Kelly. I'm going to take my friend home now."  
"Yeah, he's had a rough time of it, Davy. You treat him good."  
"When wouldn't I?" David countered and gave the woman a friendly wave before he took hold of Jim's arm. He had the sense not to mess with the side where Jim needed the cane. "Come on," he said to Jim. "I've got the Land Rover waiting."  
"Where's Sandburg?" Jim asked. "He's in trouble, isn't he?"  
"Well, he went hiking. He might have gotten turned around. Peter--my guide--is arranging a search party."  
Jim groaned. Trust Sandburg to find trouble. And here was Jim, not quite up to playing blessed protector and hauling his butt out of trouble.  
David didn't speak again until they were in the Land Rover and they were headed back to town along a bumpy gravel road that made Jim's leg tense up in protest. Only when they were out of Sentinel earshot of Kelly did the local Sentinel speak. "There's something very wrong about you, Jim. I can feel it in the way you breathe, the way your eyes look. You may be sick, but it's more than the injured leg. You've lost your senses, haven't you?"  
Jim chuckled involuntarily. "Sometimes I'm sure I've lost my senses in the convention sense," he agreed. "But you called it this time."  
"When did it happen? All at once?"  
"Just before Sandburg got on the plane to fly up here. I wondered...."  
His voice trailed off. David pursed his lips. He was a tall guy with raven-dark hair and strong features. The air he exuded was confidence and serenity--topped up with a helping of genuine concern. "You wondered if you were panicking because your guide was going away."  
No matter how much Sandburg would have talked around confirming Jim was a Sentinel, the very fact that he'd come here in search of a subject for his dissertation proved that Jim was one. Five minutes of conversation with Blair would prove to someone as perceptive as this man that he was not the type to perpetrate a hoax. The old urge to duck and cover melted away. He didn't need it with David Meganack.  
"Yeah, but I don't think it is. I know the way you feel about things can mess it all up, but this feels different."  
"Sensory spikes?" David asked. His eyes scanned the road ahead of him but he had turned his other senses on Jim; he'd hear the truth of any response. Oddly, instead of feeling overly exposed, Jim felt safe. Weird.  
"Oh, yeah," he said.  
"Something about you feels really wrong," David said. "It's strange. I can tell when JoAnne is coming down with a cold, for instance. It's as if I'm in tune to what her body chemistry is supposed to be when she's feeling well."  
"Hey, yeah," Jim blurted. "I can always tell when Sandburg's sick. He's got this thing, he keeps right on working until he's ready to fall over, and even then he'll fight to keep going. He's always got twelve things that need doing at once; his classes, the ones he teaches, the schoolwork he has to do, the police observer bit, helping me with my senses. He's pulled all different directions at once."  
"And doesn't object to one of them, from what I've seen."  
Jim chuckled. "No, that's just Sandburg. He's a real dynamo."  
"We like him, all of us. Even my great Aunt says she has a crush on him, and she's ninety-four years old."  
The praise of Sandburg reassured Jim. He could picture the community here opening its doors and its hearts and drawing Sandburg in. Blair was good at things like that. He'd sounded matey enough with them on the phone when he'd called to invite Jim up.  
"Anyway," David continued, "something's bugging you, and Blair says you're the strongest man he knows, so I doubt you would melt into an emotional puddle at the thought of going it on your own for a few weeks. It's not like he hasn't been gone a few times before, is it?"  
"No, he's been to a conference or two, and I've had to go off on police business. We have lives; you're not looking at co-dependency issues. Blair's always worked with me to help me be independent. I don't want to think it's something like that."  
"Why didn't you tell him?"  
Jim groaned. "If I'd said anything, he wouldn't have come. His life work had already fallen apart. You were his one last chance, although I have to warn you that there might be problems with covert agencies being interested in you and how they might use your abilities."  
"He mentioned that. Said he wouldn't use my name, would offer me what protection he could. But I pointed out that for the intensity of focus needed for covert ops, the zone-out factor could be a problem. It would mean sentinel/guide teams, if anything. You're a cop, and you've served in the army. You have a background that would tempt them. I'm just a high school teacher who used to know how to throw the long bomb twenty-five years ago. Northwestern."  
Jim was interested but that would have to wait. "Just so you know."  
"Point taken. Back to your problem. Blair will take one look at you and know there's something wrong. Hell, Great-aunt Olga would be able to tell. What medication are you on?"  
"That can't be it. I've been on it a week and Blair checked with the doctor and gave him a list of my drug sensitivities."  
"Which can change or produce a delayed reaction. My wife is a doctor, and even after all these years, she's still leery of medicating me. We tend to go with natural remedies; you wouldn't believe the folk medicine the elders know about. It works for me much better than prescription drugs. I want JoAnne to check out your medication, run some blood tests. How's the leg holding up?"  
"The wound is healing. But I get muscle spasms. That's what the pills are for, a muscle relaxant."  
David frowned. "I just have this feeling that something is...off with you. Maybe the medication, maybe something else. But your senses don't like it. They back off--and of course that doesn't feel right to you. You're used to them and even if they can be a royal pain, they're a part of you. So every now and then they try to peek out and see if it's safe." He grinned. "We're nearly to Hovik. I was driving slow so that we could talk a little. As soon as Blair gets back, we'll head over to the clinic and have Jo check you out. If we can rule out medical causes, then we can try something else. But I have a feeling, my friend, that what we have here is a case of a bad reaction to your medication. It's not Valium, is it? I can't take Valium myself."  
"No, it's not Valium. I can't take that, either. The doctor knew that. So he wanted to come at it from another angle. It's something new called Lapsial." He grimaced. "I've been calling it, "Collaspe-ial."  
David's mouth quirked. "Never heard of it. No reason why I should." He started to say something else, then he froze. "Wait," and slammed on the brakes.  
Jim knew the look on his face. He'd seen it on his own in the mirror when one of his senses kicked in. David's eyes grew vague, then they focused on a point beside the trail. Jim squinted in that direction, tried to narrow in his focus. It worked slightly if he forced it, but all it did for him was give him a magnified image of pine needles, a fallen tree, a clump of rocks. If he concentrated really hard he thought he saw movement there, something thick, shaggy, yet transparent.  
"My torngak," David said softly. "You're aware of him, aren't you?"  
"A...bear?" The size was right, and the color, but he couldn't perceive details. Then the spirit looked at him and for an instant, the image sharpened. Jim saw the bear, huge and bulky, and beside it, the panther, crouched on a rock. It bowed its head at Jim. The bear reared up on its hind legs, batted the air with its forepaws, then flopped down and lumbered off the rock. The panther gazed at Jim, conveying an urgent message, then it loped after the bear as if they had become best buddies.  
"Amazing." David lifted his foot from the brake. "I take it that was your torngak."  
"Torngak?"  
"Your spirit animal. The black panther. They want us to follow them, obviously. I think they'll lead us to Blair."  
"I think so, too," Jim agreed. "He's got to be in trouble. He's a magnet for it." The sharpness and clarity went out of his vision, as if the heightened awareness had been granted to him just long enough to validate David's sense of trouble.  
David cranked the wheel of the Land Rover and started down a path that almost seemed too narrow for it. It was entirely beaten earth, rutted and narrow, so that one wheel could stay on it, but the other had to jolt along the edges." There's a trail back here," David said unnecessarily. "I can follow it for part of the way in the Rover, but we might have to walk. Will your leg hold you up?"  
"It's healing well. If Sandburg needs help, I'll do what has to be done, even if it pushes healing back."  
David spared him one fleeting glance before he concentrated on the trail. "I believe you," he said. "We'll do the best we can. Peter's got men out looking. Everybody's a little tense because of the fire, but--"  
"Fire?" Jim asked and listened while David told a story of a cult dedicated to a fire demon. Alarms went off in his head. If Sandburg knew about this--and how could he not--he'd want to do something about it. Cults could be dangerous, even idiotic ones like this one. If it were just a bunch of kids filling the long summer days with stupid pranks, that was one thing. If the cult were managed by someone with an agenda, that was another matter, and might carry it over into the area of crime.  
"Who all belongs to the cult?" His thoughts flew ahead, down the impossible trail, toward Blair. You better be all right, Chief. I didn't come all this way to bring you home in a box.  
"About six of the local kids, the ones who just graduated from high school last week and a couple who are a year behind them. The anthropologists came asking us all about the old mythology. Peter said Blair was asking when the cult started and that's when we realized it began after the team from Rainier got here. Cause and effect. Blair went to talk to Professor Stoddard about it," David admitted. He muttered a curse under his breath and swung the wheel hard to one side to avoid a fallen branch as big around as Jim's waist. They slithered sideways for a second before the tires found traction, then they crunched over the leafy end.  
"Nice road," Jim muttered under his breath. His hearing kicked in just in time for the second word to sound like a shout. He winced and sought in vain for the pain dials.  
David caught the gesture. "Look, Jim, whatever you do, I want you to lay off the pills until JoAnne can run some blood tests. She's worked for years figuring out what makes a Sentinel tick medically. I've got drug sensitivities, just like you do. I just have a bad feeling about those pills. Will you do that?"  
Jim looked that over for hidden catches and heard nothing but genuine concern in the man's voice. If the medication was causing the problem--and it had begun after he'd started taking them, after all--Jim would like nothing better than to hurl them off the nearest cliff. Maybe he'd be even worse if he'd taken more of them; he'd tended to wait until a last-resort scenario before popping one. Sandburg needed him, or his animal spirit wouldn't have appeared to him like that. A few muscle spasms would not stand in the way of rescuing him. "Yeah, I'll do that," he agreed.  
David muttered something under his breath, then he pulled the Rover to a stop and switched off the engine. "Looks like we walk from here."  
Jim sent a stern message to his leg. Behave. He'd get there if he had to crawl. "Your bear still leading the way?"  
David's mouth quirked as he helped Jim out of the jeep. "Impatiently." He passed over the cane.  
Jim took it, although he didn't think it would be much help. There was a lot of underbrush, pine trees blocking passage for the Land Rover, boulders strewn artistically about. His hearing was still funky, so that the cries of distant birds seemed as if they were perched on his shoulder, yet the crackle of twigs under his feet was a muted popping sound.  
He needed his breath for the walk; he was out of shape and the terrain was not kind to a man with a leg injury. He knew the wound was healing but this was not your usual physical therapy. If the way hadn't led downhill and if David hadn't been there to lend a hand, he might not have made it. Wrong; he'd have made it if he'd had to hop on one foot. Although his five senses were wonky, the other sense, the tie to Sandburg, was clamoring on high alert. Ever since he'd awakened from the nightmare in the plane to Anchorage, he'd experienced the growing conviction that Sandburg was in danger. From David's suggestion of timing, Sandburg had still been around at that time; his walk hadn't started till later. But where his guide was concerned, Jim's heightened sensitivity was working overtime. Blair might suggest he'd had a premonition and would want to run forty-seven tests on it to see if he did that often. If they found Sandburg in one piece, Jim might even allow forty-two or so of them.  
"You know this country," he wheezed. God, he was out of shape.  
"Oh, yeah." White teeth flashed at him. "There's a river that curls around this area. From Hovik itself, the way Blair went, the path goes up a little, passes an abandoned cabin, then parallels the river gorge from above. The river makes a huge semi-circle around the village, but we don't fill the semi-circle." He held up his hand and curled his thumb and fingers into a "C". "Right here, where my thumb meets my palm, only back about a mile from the edge, there's Hovik." He traced down his index finger to the second joint. "Here's the ruined cabin." Back along his thumb. "Here's where the fire was. We know Blair went out to see the fire site because he met Ken Rasmussen there, one of the students working with Doctor Stoddard."  
Jim reached up with his free hand to push a pine branch out of the way. "Sandburg thought somebody was using this cult thing for his own benefit, didn't he?"  
"He thought maybe it came out of what the anthropologists were asking about. They asked about old legends a lot. So Blair was talking to the team about it. Rasmussen came back to Hovik and went to talk to Stoddard, right after Blair talked to him. He said he'd asked some of the kids about the Hob, and now he feels guilty, but I don't see how asking a few questions about the old legends could have done more than aroused interest."  
Spontaneous cult formation was not exactly common, or at least Jim didn't think it was. On the other hand, kids with too much time on their hands could prove remarkably inventive. Something new and different would be a temptation. "Probably couldn't," he said. "You think someone egged them on? Sandburg thinks the world of Stoddard. I'm sure he's too ethical to do anything like that."  
"I'm sure, too. Eli is a good man. He and I have had a great many talks since he's been here. The fact that I'm an author interests him."  
"What about this Rasmussen? Are there other students?"  
"Rasmussen is a year or so younger than Blair. He's gung-ho and so sincere I can't imagine him manipulating the kids. The other student is an undergraduate on his first field trip. I haven't talked to either of the students as much as I have Eli--"  
His voice broke off and he stiffened, focusing his senses. He jerked up a hand for silence, but Jim's hearing was still on overload and he heard what David had heard, the sharp snap of a twig. It could have been anything from a bear to the wind snapping a dead branch, but Jim felt his muscles tense. Vision faded but the hearing sharpened and he heard a muffled gasp of breath.  
"Sandburg!" He sucked in breath and bellowed it at the top of his lungs. "Sandburg!"  
There was a startled pause, then a voice came back, a voice threaded with pain and disbelief. "Jim!"  
The cane thudded down and Jim ran flat out in the direction of the cry. His wound was sure to complain later, but to hell with that. Sandburg did not sound well, and that was what mattered. He heard David Meganack at his side and waved a hand to urge him to go ahead if he could run faster. He didn't need help; Sandburg did.  
Before David could sprint ahead, they came around a corner of the hill and there was Sandburg. He was on his feet, moving under his own steam--he was walking out on his own, managing his own rescue--but he didn't look good at all, and as Jim saw him, he staggered, slumped, and embraced a tree trunk for balance. His clothing was torn and disheveled, pine needles protruding, pincushion-like, from the fabric of his shirt and from his hair. A smear of pine sap gave a bruised appearance to his left cheek and a liberal coating of blood decorated his right temple and cheek. He'd scrubbed at his eye with his fist to clear it and succeeded in smearing blood all over; it was even in his hair. The way he held himself suggested other injuries, his left arm bracing his ribcage and his right hand supporting that wrist. Either a rib or an arm injury or both, then. His clothes hung wetly on him as if he'd been dunked in the river--most of the right sleeve of his lumberjack shirt was gone--and the limp, bedraggled trail of his hair on the back of his neck supported that. God, David had said the path he'd taken paralleled the top of a cliff. If he'd fallen off a cliff....  
Jim's senses all kicked in at the sight of him, so painfully he knew he'd be sore and dazed when the moment passed. Adrenaline at the pathetic appearance of his guide? What mattered was that he had it now, in this moment of need. There was Blair's heartbeat, regular enough, but too fast. He was shivering, his whole body quivering painfully with it. Focus, focus. Pupils were equal and reactive. Good. But his teeth were chattering. Had he lost enough blood to go into shock? Scalp wounds bled like crazy, but probably not enough in and of itself to cause shock. He could be hyperthermic, though. Jim cast his mind back hastily to his medic training.  
"Sandburg!"  
"Jim?" Blair's eyes widened in disbelief, then blazed with relief. "It really is you. Oh, man, what are you doing in terrain like this? Do you know what that will do to your leg?" He staggered away from the friendly tree trunk and ventured a couple of shaky steps toward Jim, who lunged to meet him and gripped him by the upper arms, relief at the sight of his guide, alive and determinedly on his feet. Blair gazed up at him, his eyes filled with warmth.  
The skin of Sandburg's right arm felt cold under Jim's fingers. He felt for a pulse. It was too rapid. "Sandburg, were you unconscious?" he demanded as he checked out the scalp cut. David Meganack put his arm around Blair's shoulder and supported him while Jim examined him.  
"Uh, not really. Dazed for a second or two, I think."  
That was a bruise forming on his left temple and cheekbone; the pine sap had been misleading. Jim prodded it with gentle fingers. "What happened here, Chief?" he asked.  
"I, uh...." He narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember, then his face lifted, full of horrified recollection. "Jake hit me with a canoe paddle."  
"With a canoe paddle? God, Sandburg, he could have--"  
"I know." Blair shivered. "David, he was manipulating the kids, working the cult. He wanted to study the results and write a paper about it. He didn't see anything wrong with what he was doing, even after Joe got hurt. It'll break Eli's heart."  
"Never mind Eli's heart," Jim said. "Where does it hurt, Sandburg? Ribs?"  
"I think one snapped. I hit a rock on the way down."  
Jim moved Blair's arm carefully and traced along the ribs. As he found the point, Blair sucked in his breath. "Ow, ow, ow! Careful, Jim."  
"I have to be sure. Does it hurt to breathe, Chief?"  
"Yeah, if I take a deep breath I can feel it. I've been trying really hard not to take a deep breath."  
"Keep doing that. What you've got here is a fracture of the seventh rib. It's not displaced and since it's only one rib and it's only broken in one place, we don't have to worry about flail chest." He made an impatient gesture. That's right, Ellison, give him more nasty things to imagine.  
"The way down where?" David prompted.  
"When he pushed me over the cliff."  
There was an air of unconscious drama in his voice as he made the admission, but the words made Jim's stomach knot. He felt the muscles in his jaw go into overdrive as he gritted his teeth. When he got his hands on the little bastard who had done this....  
"It's okay," Blair continued, although his voice was thinned with pain and weakness. He was holding on by a thread. "The trees broke my fall. Lots and lots of pine trees. I just kept sliding through them." He chuckled, then groaned and pressed his arm into place. "I hit a deep pool, went right under, and I'd already hit a rock on the way down, so I didn't want to move too strenuously and puncture a lung. But I bobbed right back up and got to shore." He shivered. "That water was cold, man. When I got out, I really freaked a deer. Probably gave it a coronary. It went crashing off into the bush and I went crashing down on the bank. Good thing I got out on this side of the river, isn't it?" He frowned. "I had my cell phone in my backpack, but I lost the pack. I think it came off in the river, so I couldn't call for help. I'm sorry I couldn't call for help...." He shivered. "At least my laptop is at David's."  
"Never mind your laptop, Sandburg, we've got to get you to a doctor," Jim said. "Get you out of those wet clothes. I've got dry things back at the jeep, but we'll get you out of that wet shirt now and you can have my jacket. No, let us do it. I don't want you making that rib worse. The last thing we need is a punctured lung."  
They stripped him carefully out of the lumberjack shirt and the tee shirt under it. Jim didn't want to pull it over Sandburg's head, so he whipped out his pocket knife and slashed the fabric. That revealed the start of a massive bruise on Blair's ribcage. Blair craned his neck to look at it.  
"Oh man, Jim...." He gulped and color slid out of his face. "I could have--"  
"Easy, Sandburg," Jim interjected quickly. "It's okay. We've got you." He whipped off his jacket and worked it onto his guide. "Let me roll up the sleeves."  
Blair shivered into it, and some color returned at the warmth. His teeth were still chattering, though. Jim looked at him, standing there, his hair plastered against his head, his face too pale, at least the part that could be seen under the blood and pine sap. God, it had been far too close. He put his arms around Sandburg and held him gently so as not to make the rib injury worse, warming him with his own body heat, reassuring himself that Blair had survived. David stood aside to give them their moment. Jim heard him moving a little distance away and dismissed him from his thoughts.  
Blair made a faint, contented sound and wrapped his arms around Jim. He tucked his head under Jim's chin, and Jim held on, feeling and savoring the familiar beat of Blair's heart. "You scare me like that again, Chief, and I swear...."  
Blair gave a faint sputter of laughter that broke off immediately at the reminder of his rib, although Jim could tell the urge hadn't deserted him. "It's okay, Jim, now that you're here," he said contentedly. Then a thought penetrated his contentment. "Jim! You and David are working together. No problems? You don't feel any of that weird stuff you did with Alex, do you?"  
"No, Chief, I don't feel any weird stuff," Jim replied and hoped David would keep his mouth shut. Sandburg had enough to deal with, without hearing about the problem with Jim's senses. That could wait till he was warm and dry and a doctor had checked him out. Chin resting on the damp hair, Jim rubbed his hands up and down his guide's back to speed in warming him. Even though he was a long way from Cascade, his own "great city", he had a sense of homecoming so strong it awed him. Maybe a Sentinel's inner home was where his guide was. "Hang in there," he said. "Everything's going to be all right."  
That made Blair draw back a little so he could tilt his head and look Jim in the face. "Everything? We're good here?" he asked.  
"Chief, whatever you decide, if you get your degree and want to go on teaching, if you want to go to the Police Academy, if you want to try consultant work with the Department, whatever, that's fine. I'll stand with you, whatever you choose."  
Blair's eyes widened, glistened with emotion, with sheer contentment. "I only know one thing that's definite," he said.  
"What's that, Chief?" But the commitment in Sandburg's eyes was so intense he didn't even have to ask.  
"I'm your guide," Blair said fiercely. "I'm staying your guide. I'll always be your guide."  
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Jim agreed. "Now let's see about getting you out of here. I hate to admit it, but it's all uphill."  
"It's okay, Jim," David put in. "I told Peter where we were and that we needed a couple of sturdy guys with a stretcher. JoAnne's on her way here right now with the rescue team."  
Blair pulled back from Jim, his eyes enormous. "Oh, man! You can communicate telepathically with your guide? I can't believe it. Jim, do you think maybe we--"  
David threw back his head and laughed. "I do have a vague link with Peter, except it's a twin thing, separate from the Sentinel factor. But I didn't use that this time." He held up his hand and displayed his cell phone. "This is Nineteen ninety-nine, after all."  
Blair heaved a disappointed sigh, then he swore under his breath. "Ow, ow. I've got to stop doing that."  
Jim reached out and rumpled the tangled hair.

*****

Eli Stoddard and Ken Rasmussen were part of the rescue party, and as soon as Blair was in transit on the stretcher, carried between two sturdy locals, he beckoned Stoddard over. "It was Jake Lawless," Blair told his mentor. "He was egging on the kids, manipulating them into the cult. He thought he'd get a good paper out of it, that it would look good on his record. He didn't see a thing wrong with what he was doing, even after Joe got burned."  
Stoddard's mouth tightened and pain flashed in his eyes. "I knew he was ambitious, but the competition among the undergrads for the expedition was fierce. He'd have to be ambitious to get here. What did he do when you confronted him?" He studied Blair's face; the developing bruise where the paddle had whacked him, the sketchily cleaned blood from the cut on his forehead, the way his arm curled protectively over his broken rib.  
Blair explained, watching Eli's face darken as he told the tale. "I was sooo lucky, man. Those trees slowed my fall, so I didn't hit the water that hard. More like a dive from a high board. I'm okay. Have you seen Jake since he attacked me?"  
"I saw him," one of the tag-alongs admitted. "He flew out with Kelly Quinlan half an hour ago."  
"She'd be making the rounds," Peter Meganack said. "Two or three stops before she heads back to her home base. I'll put in a call to Anchorage and someone can be waiting there to arrest him when the plane lands. Better not to contact Kelly directly. We don't want to create a hostage situation."  
"If he was willing to attack Blair, he'd probably use her as a hostage," Jim agreed. "Warn them that he's dangerous."  
Blair looked up at Eli Stoddard. "It's not your fault," he said quickly.  
"It is for not realizing what he was capable of. Starting that cult wasn't exactly ethical, but there are some who'd probably feel he was just gathering data. What he did to you, Blair...."  
Blair shivered. "He tried to kill me. Probably thought he could get away with it, that they'd assume I got the bruise from the paddle when I fell. He wouldn't expect a forensics team to go out to the top of the cliff and check for footprints. I'd be just another cheechako who got in over my head."  
"That's attempted murder, Chief," Jim said tightly. "They'll get him."  
"What about those poor kids he manipulated?" Blair worried.  
"I'll handle the kids, Blair." David reached down and gripped Blair's shoulder. "Or Eli and I can do it together. I think they're pretty shocked now. I'm the closest thing they've got to a guidance counselor. I've known them all their lives, and Eli knows the background of all these myths and tribal cultures. He's got the theoretical experience and I have the practical experience. We'll handle the kids just fine." 

*****

"It's the pills," JoAnne Meganack told Jim and Blair a couple of hours later. The two of them sat side by side on beds in the clinic's one patient room, both wearing hospital gowns, although JoAnne had already told them she wouldn't keep them overnight. "It's not as if you wouldn't have a doctor at hand," she reminded them, "since you're staying at my house."  
Blair's rib was broken, but the rib was not displaced, and the treatment for it was pretty much Ibuprofen and careful movement as he healed. "You'll know if you try to do too much, but don't do any lifting for a few days anyway." Blair could guarantee that. He was already discovering cautious new ways just to stand up and sit down.  
"I think I'll just lay on a lawn chair out in the yard and let people wait on me," Blair kidded with a sideways glance at Jim.  
"Yeah, Chief, I'll limp over and peel your grapes."  
Blair made a face at him, although his eyes flashed measuringly down to Jim's leg and back again. "Jim! Let's get Simon up here. He'll like the fishing and we can give him all the grunt work." His face fell. "No, that wouldn't work. He's recovering, too. He was hurt worse than either of us."  
"We'll let Peter do it," JoAnne had said. "He needs to be humbled every now and then."  
Peter had been a part of the rescue team. He and Jim hadn't exactly warmed to each other. Personality clash rather than anything Sentinel-based.  
And that was another problem. Jim's senses were haywire. "Why didn't you tell me?" Blair had cried when Jim admitted it on the way out. They'd made Blair lie on the stretcher, even when he'd pointed out that his legs would carry him just fine and that Jim was recovering from a leg injury. To compensate, a couple of burly rescuers had pretty much carried Jim, his arms draped over their shoulders. Both of them were bigger than that jerk, Jake Lawless. Lawless? Yeah, he was lawless, all right.  
"You needed the data, Chief. I wasn't going to rob you of your chance to clear your name."  
Blair felt his eyes grow huge. "You think that matters when you're in trouble, Jim? God, I'd have come back on the first plane. I wouldn't even have gone. David could have waited. Don't you ever do that to me again."  
"I just...." Jim's voice trailed off. "I didn't...."  
"Yeah, I know you. Big macho secret. You're not made of steel, Jim. You're a Sentinel, not superman. This macho cop number might work when you're up against a perp, but I'm your guide. I can't do my thing if you won't tell me what's wrong." He found a grin. "I know you're fighting all this stoic conditioning, but we have to trust each other."  
"I know. You're right. It's just tough, sometimes. But you don't have to whack me upside of the head with a canoe paddle to make the point. I'll give you hourly bulletins."  
Blair stuck out his tongue at him. "See that you do," he said primly and let them move on with the stretcher.  
They'd made it back to Hovik in record time, JoAnne checking both of them out along the way and then whisking them into the clinic for examinations. Her nurse took samples of Jim's blood and whisked it away to the lab--Jim made a smart remark about the vampire in the basement who was waiting for his dinner--while JoAnne finished examining Blair's ribs. That hadn't been fun. They hadn't needed dressing, although strapping ribs was out of favor as a treatment these days, anyway. She checked Blair for evidence of hypothermia and lauded Jim for getting him out of his wet shirt and helping to warm him with body heat.  
Blair didn't have a concussion, just a headache, and the cut right at his hairline had needed only two stitches. Considering he'd been bashed with a canoe paddle and pushed off a cliff, he felt pretty damned good.  
If only he wasn't so worried about Jim.  
David and Peter waited with them while the blood work was done. They brought the word that the Anchorage police had Jake Lawless in custody. He'd strolled off the plane right into their waiting arms. When he'd seen the way the deck was stacked, he hadn't even struggled. He'd asked for a lawyer and refused to say another word.  
Well, Blair would testify in court about him. He didn't mean to let Professor Stoddard take the fall for the screw-up of one ambitious student. Maybe there was no criminal charge that could be applied to inventing a cult, but the charge would be attempted murder. That ought to stick.  
Blair leaned back against a couple of pillows in a position that didn't bother his ribs as long as he didn't take deep breaths. He heard David and Jim comparing notes on Sentinel things, and he cranked his eyes open to watch them. Two Sentinels, talking calmly face to face. It was like a miracle. Had to be the rogue Sentinel element with Alex. She had no guide, no territory to protect, no experience in controlling her senses. David was calm, in control, perfectly content with who and what he was. It was good that Jim could talk to someone who understood what he'd been through. They could stay in touch via e-mail when Jim and Blair went home. Maybe David and Peter could even visit Cascade.  
Then JoAnne breezed in, looking relieved. "It's definitely the pills, Jim. I do a lot of medical testing for a Sentinel. Your local doctor wouldn't know; even if he saw all the news stories and believed you were a Sentinel, that wouldn't give him enough insight to know what would and wouldn't work for you. Your Lapsial is a new drug, just approved by the FDA. Side effects are minimal; unlike some muscle relaxants, it won't make you sleepy or groggy, and it doesn't relax you so much that you'll stop being careful and overtax your healing injury without realizing it. I think it would probably be a good thing--for someone who wasn't a Sentinel. Your doctor could never have known."  
"But my senses are halfway back now," Jim disagreed. "And I took one of the pills this morning. Shouldn't it still be in my bloodstream?"  
"It is, and it will have to work its way out of your system, probably over the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours. But when you knew Blair was in danger, your body kicked in with an adrenaline rush, and that helped. It wasn't enough to override the drug in your system, but it boosted your senses. As it fades, you're going to probably experience more sensory spikes, fading in and out over the next couple of days. I can't risk medicating it out of you, although I have some herbal treatments that will ease the muscle cramps in your leg." She put on a stern face. "Which might ease on their own if you wouldn't try to overdo, Detective Ellison."  
"Who, me?" Jim said brightly. He looked as if he'd just shed a ten-ton weight. "I'll have my senses back?" Blair shivered at the vulnerability in his voice. God, he'd taken off and left Jim in such a bad state. One glimpse of the "brass ring" of a doctorate, and he had deserted his friend. He should have noticed. That was what a guide was supposed to do.  
Jim turned and nailed him with a suspicious glance. "Wipe that guilt off your face, Sandburg. I know just what you're thinking. I practically threw you onto that plane."  
"Yeah, and whose guilt was talking then, Jim?" Blair countered.  
David stood up and held up his hands in the gesture of a football referee. "Time out. Don't make it about guilt, either of you. A lot of good intentions were involved in the process. Here's what we do. Blair's still got most of his original three weeks left. We'll work with him, and you can be there, too, knowing things to ask me about that Blair might not even think of. When the time is up and you have to go back to work, Peter and I will fly back with you for a few more weeks. Blair will go into intensive work with us for that time. I'm a teacher; I'm off for the whole summer. Blair can rewrite the diss; all the ancient sentinel stuff is still valid, as is his research with the partial sentinels. The only difference--and yes, I know it's a big difference--is inserting me instead of you, Jim."  
Blair groaned. "My fingers already hurt, thinking of all that typing."  
"So, what about the Police Academy, Chief?" Jim asked. "Do you know what you want to do?"  
"Would you be mad at me if I didn't go, Jim? I know how much you want me to be your partner."  
"You are my partner, Chief, whether you go to the Academy or not. If you get that doctorate, you've got four years experience working with the police department and you're damned good at it. Simon and I will work something out, even if they have to create a position for you." He hesitated. "Or would you rather teach?"  
"I do want to teach," Blair said. "At least part of the time. But I told you once that being your guide and working with you was such a rush that I didn't think I could ever go back to just being an academic. That's still true, Jim. You know it is."  
They gazed at each other, and for that moment, there was no need of words. Blair could see in Jim's eyes that his senses were on line, at least for the moment. Maybe he could hear the utter truth in Blair's voice, in the very beating of his heart. From the flash of contentment in Jim's eyes, Blair was sure he could.  
"Just so long as you don't forget, once you've got those fancy letters after your name, that I'm still the senior partner," Jim kidded him.  
"Yeah, the elder partner," Blair kidded. "Let me pass you your cane. Is that a grey hair I see?"  
"Cruising for a bruising, Chief."  
"No way, Jim. I'm already bruised." He smiled happily. "So, can we go now? I hate hospitals."  
"I think that can be arranged," agreed JoAnne.  
"Oh, man, this is going to be great," Blair exulted. "Jim, I've got all these great tests planned for you and David, once those pills are out of your system. And I'm going to jump all over Doctor Harlan when we get back to Cascade."  
"He was doing the best he could," Jim argued. Then the rest of it caught up with him and his face fell. "Tests?" he echoed hollowly.  
"You bet, tests, Jim. This is the ideal system. Two Sentinels working together? Where else can I ever find out anything like that? Maybe I can't use your specific interaction in the diss, but we need to know. I can theorize, after all. David's uncle used to bond with neighbor Sentinels way back when he was the Sentinel of Hovik. I can't wait."  
Jim rolled his eyes at David. "Is Peter this annoying?" he asked.  
"More," David said. His brother poked him in the ribs. "But it's worth it. Isn't it?"  
Jim looked across at Blair, and there was the warmth of acceptance, of understanding, of peaceful resolution in his eyes. "Oh, yeah," he admitted with a smile. "It is definitely worth it. Come on, Sandburg, let's blow this popstand."

**Author's Note:**

> A tip of the hat to The Real Ghostbusters for the concept of Hob Anagarok


End file.
